✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader, Kim Namjoon x Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: So your relationship with Namjoon has gone to shit. Your solution? Hit up a sex shop and try to salvage things in the bedroom instead of dealing with the real issues. (Solid plan, right?) What you didn’t expect is to walk out with a blind box and pull a toy called SUGA—magical, stupidly hot, and guarantees to fix your 99 problems, but he actually becomes one.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternately: Yoongi is a Labubu / Sonny Angel. (Kind of.)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Crackfic galore, Magical realism slash sci-fi, Non-idol
✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Again, Yoongi is a toy (be aware of that, but, well, he grows life-size.)
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello!!! And welcome to another vaguely planned series. I know it’s not the type/genre I usually post, but this idea has been in my brain for months now. I promise it’s gonna be a fuckin' good time! 🎉 TAGLIST IS OPEN
Masterlist
🔮001 ✨
🔮002 ✨
🔮003 ✨
🔮004 ✨
🔮005 ✨
🔮006 ✨
🔮007 ✨
🔮008 ✨
🔮009 ✨
🔮010 Coming Soon: 12.26.2025 | Now up on Ko-fi
Extras:
Drabble 001 : Laboongi is 'Lost' ✨
Read the introduction under the cut
You always thought relationships ended dramatically—with screaming matches and shattered plates, and doors slamming hard enough to shake termites off the walls. But you learned the painful truth with your first love Kim Namjoon: relationships often crumble quietly, fading so gradually, so infinitesimally, you barely notice until the warmth has completely vanished, hearts once filled with everything is completely weightless.
Like now, seated across from him at your favorite café, sunlight streaming through tall windows, you sip your coffee and glance at him over the rim. Namjoon is buried in his phone, thumb scrolling endlessly. A small sigh escapes your lips, but he doesn’t notice. Hasn't noticed, actually, in a very long time.
"Did you hear what I said?" you ask softly.
"Hmm?" He lifts his eyes, distracted. "Sorry, work shit. Sup?"
"Never mind," you say with forced brightness, waving away your disappointment. But the heaviness in your chest stays, quietly and gradually expanding.
You’d planned this coffee date to rekindle something—anything—but now it feels like a futile effort. The silence stretches until your coffee turns cold. Just like your 10-year relationship.
Maybe love wasn’t supposed to feel thrilling forever, but it shouldn’t feel this empty either. Maybe it’s because you fell in love too early, too soon. But you miss the laughter, the passion, the nights tangled together in bed until dawn. Lately, all you've shared are polite good mornings and goodnights, passing like polite strangers under the same roof.
Desperate situations call for desperate measures, you suppose. Which is exactly how you find yourself standing in front of "The Magic Shop", the quirkiest little sex shop tucked in an alleyway of boutiques you've always avoided entering. A glowing neon sign flickers playfully above the door:
Cum Inside. Happy Endings Guaranteed
Wow. How subtle.
Inside, you're met by walls of purple velvet, shelves crowded with vibrant boxes and toys in every conceivable shape and size. It's whimsical and overwhelming, scented faintly of vanilla and spice. You're about to lose your nerve when a warm, amused voice interrupts your anxious thoughts.
"First time in the Magic Shop?"
You whip around to meet a pair of moon-like eyes and a mischievous smile, belonging to a man behind the counter whose nametag reads: Jimin.
… to be continued
A/N: Alright! Are we sat??? Leave me a note if you’re excited. 🥹
TAGLIST IS OPEN | Just drop a note or leave an ask so I can tag you when the first part is out. Or you can join my permanent taglist :)
✧ SUMMARY: It was supposed to be one night, one lap, one bag secured. But Min Yoongi doesn’t play like the others—he watches like he sees you, listens like he means it, and touches like he has no intention of letting go. But forever doesn’t come easy for you—and if falling for him means facing every part of yourself you swore you’d never let anyone touch? You’re going to have to figure out if it’s worth it.
✧ TAGS: smut, fluff, angst, agust d but make it ginger!yoongi, stripper!reader (warnings listed for each individual chapter)
prompt ; in which life gives you and Jungkook one more chance to hold on.
note ; hello my little lovers! i hope your day or night has been splendid so far <3
enjoy it.
this chapter will be ruining all of that.
heehehhe okay i play too much — but this one is definitely an intriguing one. we finally get jungkook's pov in all of this. an inside look into his and sana's marriage.
i think what's most important to me about his pov is his opinion on his marriage. up until now, it's pretty much been picture perfect. they're couple goals; they're rich and successful and amazing parents. but beyond all that, is a man who's grappling with his past. he's mourning all the things that have changed. for any man, that's a hard pill to swallow.
there are no jungkook x oc interactions in this part (please hold your tomatoes until the end, thank you for your candor) but get used to it — there will be chapters in this fic that do not have scenes with them. mostly in the beginning, but one or two maybe later on. if that's not your vibe, idk, go read after by anna todd on wattpad or something
OK ENOUGH RAMBLING i hope you enjoy (shoutout, as per usual, to @httpsincity, my partner in crime, and @writesvani who makes me feel less delusional about this fic 🙂↕️)
playlist here
series masterlist here
wc ; 6.1k
[JUNGKOOK'S POV]
Jeon Jungkook is very lucky.
What comes as a challenge to most people, falls into his lap like ripe fruit from a tree he never had to climb.
He doesn’t need to sit by windowsills making wishes on stars, or blow out birthday candles with hope. Everything he wanted... simply arrived.
It’s selfish, he knows. Ungrateful, maybe, to ignore how rich and full his life has become, how perfectly all the pieces fit together like a puzzle designed specifically for him.
When he goes down the list, he can never find a single flaw. Two undeniably brilliant children who make him laugh until his sides ache. Hari, with her curiosity and Jungwon, who reminds him of himself when he was a young boy. He’s almost certain Hari will grow up to be a pianist. A brilliant wife, Sana, who matches his ambition step for step. A job that pays well enough he can afford to send money back to his parents in Busan each month.
Jeon Jungkook is very lucky.
But, he thinks to himself as he walks back to the car hand-in-hand with Jungwon and Hari, his luck is running out.
His heart hammers against his ribs, limbs feel heavy as he slips into the driver’s seat of the black Range Rover. The twins giggle as they hop into their car seats, automatically reaching for their seatbelts the way he and Sana have drilled into them since they were old enough to sit upright.
Sana snaps her compact mirror shut, looking over at him with a frazzled expression. “Baby, where’s the coffee?”
Fuck.
He left his own coffee abandoned on that small table. In fact, he’s not even sure he ever ordered Sana’s usual — almond milk latte, extra shot — when he finally made it to the front of the line. All coherent thought had evaporated the second he’d caught sight of your hair, the familiar slope of your shoulders, on your fucking shoes that still look like they fit you a bit too small.
He wasn’t even going to approach you. The plan had been simple: let his mind run wild for thirty seconds, pretend he wasn’t sure it was really you, and walk right back to his car holding his wife’s coffee.
But, as all things go when involving you, his self-control crumbled like paper in the rain. He can’t pretend you don’t exist when you’re right there, can’t walk away when every instinct in his body is screaming at him to get closer, to find out if seeing him affects you even half as much as seeing you does.
Can’t ignore you when you’re crash landing into him like you always did.
He forces himself to focus. The question. Sana asked him a question. Coffee. Right. Shit.
“Sorry. I-I, uh,” He clears his throat, “it was crazy busy in there. I don't know what happened.”
Sana will be annoyed — she's particular about her coffee, has been since their dating days — but it's better than trying to explain why he spent roughly 20 minutes talking to his ex-girlfriend while his kids ate breakfast in the car.
“It’s fine. We’re late to school already. We can't have them late on their first day.” Sana’s tone is clipped. If he had to guess, she’s probably mentally rearranging the morning in her head, figuring out how to salvage their timeline.
He pulls away from the curb, hands on autopilot — turn signal, merge into traffic. But it feels like his brain is stuck in that coffee shop.
“How far is the drive?” Sana wonders aloud.
“Should be around here. I think it’s walking distance.”
And it’s not lost on him that out of all the neighborhoods in Seoul, he ended up here. Mile radius from where you get your morning coffee, apparently.
“Mommy?” Jungwon’s voice floats up from the backseat. Jungkook’s chest flares up at the uncertainty hanging off the word.
“Yes, Jungwon?” Sana’s own voice softens.
This is the part of her that never fails to surprise him — how completely she transforms when their children need her. The marketing executive disappears, replaced by someone infinitely patient. He’s seen her yell at interns until they logged off calls crying.
“Will we make friends here?” The vulnerability in his question wipes Jungkook’s brain clean of any thoughts of you. His son, worried about belonging, about finding his place in a world that feels too big for him, becomes his sole worry.
“Oh, yes, baby. Of course you will. You’ll make a ton.” Sana sounds completely sure, like she’s never met a problem she couldn’t solve. “Anyone would be lucky to be friends with you. You don’t have to change anything about yourself.”
“It’s okay, Wonnie. I’ll let you have lunch with me,” Hari announces beside him, her small hand coming up to pat his arm generously. “And if anyone is mean to you, I’ll tell them to stop.”
Jungkook catches sight of them in the rearview mirror — Hari fierce and protective, Jungwon’s shoulders relaxing — and the flare in his chest from earlier puffs out in a gust of air.
“That’s very sweet of you, Hari,” Sana says, reaching from the passenger seat to caress her little leg. “But I think Jungwon is going to do just fine on his own too.”
“What if the other kids don’t like dinosaurs?” Jungwon asks trepidly. He clutches the toy to his chest as if a kid who, by some force of nature, happens to hate dinosaurs will come and snatch it up.
“Then they have terrible taste,” Jungkook jokes, catching his son’s eyes in the mirror. “Right buddy?”
Sana snorts, glancing over at him in the mirror. “Remember when you were worried about your promotion at Goldman? You thought everyone would be smarter than you.”
He’d forgotten she remembered that. Back when she used to listen to his fears instead of just solving them.
“That’s different. I was an adult.” He turns onto a backroad, driving over a small pothole mindlessly.
“Barely,” she teases. “You stress-ate an entire bag of potato chips the night before.”
“I did not stress eat. I enjoyed them.”
“Uh-huh.” She’s looking out the window now, but he can hear the smile in her words. “You left crumbs in the bed for weeks.”
He hates to admit it, but it’s the most they’ve talked about anything besides their kids and coordinating moving schedules in months.
The move back to Korea had been brutal, even though they both agreed it was necessary for him to get promoted again. Logistics, visa paperwork, finding schools for the kids, selling the Manhattan home Sana loved — the list goes on. They had been so focused on surviving the transition that conversation was lost in translation along the way.
Now their conversations sounded like business meetings: who’s picking up the kids, what time works for Hari’s piano lessons, did Sana transfer the money to his parents.
And of course, it’s happening now when his stupid head is still full of you. He briefly wonders what you would’ve said to Jungwon, what advice you would’ve supplied to his anxious son.
You used to make Jungkook practice in front of your stuffed animals before any presentation in college.
“Speaking of work,” Sana begins, pulling out her phone. “I’ll probably be in the office late today. The Laneige campaign will definitely be insane. You’re handling pickup right?”
Just like that, they’re back to logistics. It all dissolves like sugar in water.
“Yeah, I can log off early.” He takes another turn as directed by his Kakao map. “How’s the pitch going?”
“Good. Stressful. You know how it is.” She’s scrolling through emails, half-present. “The creative team keeps pushing back on the concept, but I’m getting them on board whether they like it or not.”
He nods, although she doesn’t look up and note it. She’s talking to the air, working through problems he doesn’t really understand in an industry that’s foreign to him. In New York, at least they’d both been strangers together.
“The kids need to be picked up by 3:30,” she continues, pushing her hair out of her face. “And Hari has that piano lesson later.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, and can you grab groceries? Somehow we just moved here and we’re already out of those yogurt pouches Jungwon likes.”
The bullet points keep growing. It’s efficient. Their marriage works.
The school comes into view then, a modest building with a colorful playground set and parents walking hand-in-hand with small children.
A flicker of a thought traverses across his mind. What is your school like? Do you hang up alphabet charts? Arrange tiny chairs?
The parking lot is absolute chaos. To put it politely, it’s utter mayhem. He does his best to ignore it all, though, otherwise his flight risk of a son might sprint in the opposite direction. Jungkook parks and they all tumble out of the Range Rover, umbrellas blooming open like black flowers against the dim morning light.
“Okay, my loves,” Sana crouches down to their level. Her phone disappears into her purse, and she becomes theirs. “This is going to be the best day! Your teachers are so excited to meet you, and you’re going to learn amazing things and make new friends.”
Hari nods excitedly, but Jungwon’s chin wobbles faintly.
“I don’t want to go,” he whispers, nudging his face into Sana’s shoulder. Jungkook tries not to let his heart crack open.
Jungkook gets down to his son’s eye level, wiping away tears that have begun to gather at his waterline. Jungwon always feels everything so deeply. At this age, Jungkook was the same. Crying over broken toys and scraped knees.
“Hey buddy,” he soothes softly. “Remember what we talked about? How sometimes being brave means doing things even when they feel scary?”
Jungwon sniffles and lifts his eyes to meet Jungkook’s.
“I’ll be right here when school ends. Same spot, same car. I promise.”
The guilt makes a home in his stomach as he says it. They were happy in New York — or, at the very least, settled. Jungwon had friends in pre-k, a routine that was safe.
But the offer to lead the Korean expansion of Goldman Sachs, to spearhead a deal with another investment banking firm was too good to pass up. Him and Sana made the decision together, like adults, like partners. But looking at his son's tear-streaked face, he wonders if they'd asked the wrong people what they wanted.
Sana kisses Jungkook’s cheek. A habitual gesture of affection. “I’ll be right back,” she whispers.
“Come on.” She takes both of their hands, shifting her umbrella to hold under her chin. “Let’s go meet your teachers.”
He watches them walk towards the entrance, waving at Jungwon and Hari one last time when they turn around to see a glimpse of their father inevitably. Sana’s stride is confident alongside them. Even from where he stands, he can see her working her magic.
Jungkook closes his umbrella, gets back in the car and sits in the quiet as it engulfs him. He watches raindrops race each down the windshield, before collecting at the bottom together. The vehicle smells like rain and the faint trace of Sana’s perfume.
This is enough. This Monday morning, this good life, this family he’s built with a woman who loves their children with her entire soul.
Most days, it is enough.
But as he watches the rain blur his view of the world outside, he can’t stop thinking about how you’d looked when you crouched down to talk to Jungwon in the coffee shop.
The car door opens before he can let himself fall too deep down the rabbit hole of thinking about you. Sana slides back in, shaking her umbrella before placing it on the floor. “They’re all set. Hari practically dragged her teacher to the art corner and Jungwon stopped crying the second he saw the reading nook.”
“Good.” Jungkook clears his throat, pulling out of the parking space. “He loves books.”
“Gets that from you.” She’s checking her phone again, but peeks up at him. “I think he misses when you used to read to him every night. Even when you got home at midnight from work.”
Jungwon would barely be awake, curled into his chest while he read Goodnight Moon in a whispered tone. Feels like a lifetime ago now that they’re back in Seoul.
“I still read to him… sometimes.” Jungkook shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“I know. I’m not criticizing.” She sounds tired suddenly. “Just… we used to do more things together. All of us.”
She’s right, and they both know it. He’d often heard stories from his coworkers, from his best friend in America, Aiden, about how marriages fell sour after years of failed commitments and empty promises. Jungkook thought he was doing a good job managing it all.
But maybe they had turned into roommates who just so happened to share kids.
“How about this weekend, we could go to Namsan Tower,” he suggests. “The kids have been asking.”
Sana sighs. “I have a presentation early Monday. I’ll be prepping all weekend.”
“What about the next weekend?”
“I have that conference in Busan, remember?” She rubs her temples. “God, I feel like I’m always saying no to things. You don’t think Hari resents me for not going to her piano recital last month, right?”
“Of course not. You’re building something important. Publicis can’t do half the things they do without you,” he reassures. He’s proud of what she’s accomplished, even if it does feel like they’re ships passing in the night.
“So are you. The expansion into the Korean market is huge, baby.” She reaches out and runs her manicured hand through his dark hair. Months have gone by since she touched him just because she wanted to.
“Yeah.” He turns onto the main road towards downtown Seoul. “We made the right choice, right? Coming here?”
When he turns his head to peer at her, Sana’s face is directed towards the window, eyeing as the city blurs past. “Ask me in a year. When the kids have friends and we're not eating takeout every night because we're too exhausted to cook."
“We could hire someone to cook,” he points out.
“That’s not the point, Jungkook.” She doesn’t sound angry. Just tired. “I don’t want to outsource our entire life.”
“I know. I just thought—”
“What? That throwing money at it would fix things?” Sana exhales, almost as if she’s ridding herself from the negativity she’s grown in her body during their tolling move. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult.”
“You’re not being difficult, Sana.” He merges into the left lane, watching her reflection in the passenger window. She’s abandoned her phone, gazing at the puffy clouds. “I get it. You want us to actually live our life, not just get random people to manage it.”
“Exactly.” Sana’s face turns towards his, surprised maybe that he understood. “In New York, we had that routine we did with the kids on Sundays. Pancakes and The Times, the kids would build forts in the living room…”
His lips curl upright automatically at the flashback; Hari and Jungwon used to adore using the blankets and pillows on the couch from West Elm to create makeshift forts. They were very exclusive. Until one Sunday, he and Sana were finally allowed entry, and they spent a good two hours with their kids playing with plastic dinosaurs and sharing bites of cold pancakes.
“You’d steal the crossword before I could finish it…” He sing-songs, chuckling,
“Steal’ is an exaggeration. I borrowed it temporarily,” she pouts light-heartedly. “You were just too slow.”
“I was being thorough.”
“You overthought seven across for like, twenty minutes.”
For a second, it's like they're back in their old apartment, fighting over the Sunday crossword while the kids made a mess of the living room.
“...We could start doing that again,’ he says. “The Sunday thing.”
“Yeah?” She’s hopeful, but then slithers back into caution. “Even with our work schedule?”
“I’ll make it work.” He has no reason not to. After all, he works remotely now, from the home office they set up in their new house. But he can recall a plethora of times he’s said those words and got pulled into emergency weekend meetings. “I mean it this time.”
“You always mean it.” She twiddles with her fingers in her lap. “That’s not really the problem, is it?”
Neither of them answers that.
“Oh, speaking of schedules,” she says, switching gears. He’s beyond grateful for the change in subject. “Seo-yeon’s baby shower is this weekend. Sunday, I think? Do you mind picking up a gift today when you get groceries?”
“Seo-yeon, your college friend?”
“Yeah, she’s having a girl. I meant to order something online, but…” She waves her hand vaguely. “Time.”
He nods, adding it to his mental checklist. “Any particular store?”
“Lotte probably has some nice stuff. There’s also a nice boutique somewhere downtown.” When he glances over at her, she’s back on her phone, furiously typing away.
“I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“Thanks, baby.”
They drive in comfortable silence for a while, the rain drumming against the roof. He thinks about asking her if she's happy they upped sticks but he can't bring himself to do it. Not when they're finally talking like they used to.
“The kids did look excited, by the way,” she notes as they arrive at the Publicis building. “Hari’s teacher seems wonderful. Very patient.”
“Jungwon isn’t in the same class as her?” Jungkook blinks his hazards on.
“No.” Sana shrugs nonchalantly. “I noticed that as soon as I walked in. He has an older male teacher. I don’t know how I feel about them being in separate classes, to be honest.”
“We can always request a classroom change?” He offers. Ever since the two had exited the womb, Jungwon and Hari functioned as a unit. Sometimes Jungkook worries about his soft son, wonders what will happen when Hari isn’t there to speak for him, to make friends for both of them.
“Definitely. We’ll just have to see.” Sana gathers her things, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll be home by 7? Possibly with takeout in tow?”
“Sure.” His voice sounds normal, he thinks. “Have a good day.”
And she has one foot out of the car, touching the pavement, when she turns back. “We’re… okay, right? I mean, we’re figuring it out.”
“Yeah,” he agrees tentatively. “We’re figuring it out.”
She smiles brightly, and then she’s walking off, disappearing into the lobby of her building.
Jungkook is alone with the rain and the lies he spun together when the truth felt too complicated to untangle.
He slumps into the driver’s seat, letting out the breath he’s been holding since he first saw you in that coffee shop. From his position, he watches clouds race across the slice of sky that’s visible, moving fast like they know exactly where they’re headed.
For a split second, he thinks about calling Seokjin.
The thought comes out of nowhere, hitting him like a sucker punch. He hasn’t spoken to Jin in ten years. Jin had made it pretty clear whose side he was on back then — yours, obviously, and Jungkook couldn’t even be mad about it. You were Jin's friend first, and Jungkook had been the one to leave.
Jin had every right to choose you.
But sitting in his car, with his life in fragments, he wonders if ten years is long enough for some wounds to stop bleeding. If maybe Jin would pick up the phone, if they could talk like adults instead of the stupid 22-year-olds they’d been when everything went to hell.
He pulls out his phone, finger numbly scrolling to where Jin’s name would be, and realizes it’s probably not up-to-date anymore.
One of those nights where he felt like the walls of his apartment were closing in on him, he had texted Jin, but it was sent in a green bubble. It might’ve been the second or third year he was in New York, he can’t recall.
Maybe that’s for the best. There’s nothing he could offer Jin besides, Saw your best friend today and now having an existential crisis. Want to get lunch and pretend the last decade didn’t happen?
You were graceful with him. But Jin… well, Jin, won’t offer him the same.
Probably better to leave the past alone anyway.
A restructuring deal Jungkook is working feverishly closes at 1:30 PM, and the familiar sense of satisfaction courses through his veins as he watches the numbers finalize on the screen.
42 million US dollars in fees for the firm, a full-bellied client, and another deal that’ll look impressive during his year-end review. Back in New York, he was notoriously known for making complicated problems disappear with the right combination of numbers and timing.
Being Vice President of Investment Banking mostly means his days disappear in a frenzy of internal calls and spreadsheets and negotiations that only matter to people with more money than most small countries. The Korean expansion was handed to him on a silver platter from the start, what with his knowledge of the language, and watching it succeed feels like validation for every risk he’s taken to get here.
The paycheck doesn’t hurt either. Whoever said financial security doesn’t buy happiness is only partially correct — providing for his parents, for his own family, keeps a half-smile permanently tattooed on his lips.
By the time he looks up from his computer, it's already almost 2 PM. Shit.
He's supposed to pick up groceries before getting the kids, and Sana's list is embedded in the folds of his brain. Those yogurt pouches Jungwon likes, baby shower gift…
Maybe he’ll pick up something for dinner. They've ordered Korean fried chicken three times this week, and he can practically hear his mother's disapproving voice in his head.
The drive from his home to the heart of Gangnam takes ten minutes on a good day, twenty on a bad day. Today, he’s lucky enough that it’s in between — Seoul’s normal afternoon rush of delivery trucks and taxis and people like him running errands mid-day.
He calls the school from a red light to let them know he'll be there by 4 PM, listening to the automated message in Korean that sounds slightly foreign, especially after all these years away.
The organic market in Gangnam is unfortunately expensive, catering to affluent families and Korean corporate professionals. Everything costs twice more than what it should, but they stock organic brands that Sana’s been researching obsessively since she was pregnant with the twins.
He’s walking towards the entrance, running through the list again in his head, when he notices the quaint cafe next door.
The lunch crowd seems pretty standard — office workers, laptops scattered across wooden tables, ceramic cups of coffees reflecting off light.
Jungkook doesn’t normally spend his days staring in cafe windows. But something — or rather, someone — makes him pause in his tracks.
Of all the days, of all the places.
Seokjin. Or who he perceives as Kim Seokjin — time has a funny way of morphing faces — sitting at a table by the window, laughing at something a man across from him is saying.
Jungkook’s feet stop so abruptly that someone behind him mutters a curse. His stomach drops like he’s in a free fall, then lurches sideways off-course. He might throw up right here on the sidewalk.
He blinks hard. Like when one first wakes up and has to pull themselves out of the haze. Once, twice, five times.
Surely he’s seeing things. Surely, his morning thoughts about Seokjin have conjured up some kind of hallucination.
But no. It's definitely him. Just older, more distinguished. His hair is shorter, but disheveled as he always kept it in university. His button-down has paint stains splattered on the sleeves. Does Seokjin still paint as often as he used to?
The man he’s talking to has sharper features, glasses hanging off his nose as he gestures expressively towards Jin.
It must be Jin’s boyfriend. Last he heard through the distant grapevine, Jin had finally come out as gay to his family and friends.
There was a time where Jungkook would have been the second person he called after doing something as life-changing as that.
Jungkook hasn't moved in at least thirty seconds. People are walking around him now, giving him annoyed looks, but he can't seem to make his feet work. Part of him wants to walk into that cafe, wants to slide into an empty chair at their table and say something casual like "Small world, huh?"
But a larger part of him is terrified. He would have to explain who he’s become. The married father, the investment banker, the man who abandoned all his dreams for a life that looks perfect.
He observes as Jin throws his head back and laughs at something the man says. Jungkook used to know exactly what could make Jin laugh like that. Used to be one of the people who could pull that sound out of him during late night conversations in your apartment, back when you were all young and stupid and thought the hardest part of life would be figuring out what to do after graduation.
Now Jin is here, in this random cafe, with someone who clearly adores him, and Jungkook is standing on a sidewalk in Gangnam with organic groceries to buy and two kids to pick up.
Something impulsive takes over him then. His feet start moving before his brain catches up, carrying him toward the entrance of the cafe like he’s being pulled by invisible strings.
What the fuck? his rational mind screams. Turn around. Walk away.
It’s no use — his body isn’t listening. His hand is already pushing open the door, and he’s inside, inhaling the scent of coffee and pastries. The recognizable sound of an espresso machine steaming plays on a loop in his head.
Twice in one day. The universe, petty as ever, must be howling.
He nearly bumps into a waitress on his way, but misses her by a few centimeters.
Jungkook can see Jin clearly now, can hear his boisterous voice drift over the chatter of the customers.
So stupid, he tells himself, even as his legs carry him across the cafe. So fucking stupid. What's the plan here, genius?
There is no plan. There's never been a plan with anything involving his past.
He reaches the table and just… hovers. Like an absolute idiot.
He can smell Jin’s cologne — it’s expensive and sophisticated and Jin at 22 would never have worn that.
Jin is mid-sentence, articulating wildly with a fork in hand, when he glances up and sees him. The fork freezes halfway on its way to his mouth. His eyes, resembling maple syrup fresh from the jar, go wide, then wider, like he’s seeing a ghost.
“Jungkook?” He can’t even recognize his own name coming out of Jin’s mouth. “Jeon Jungkook?”
Jungkook can only muster a nod in response. His vocal chords have abandoned him entirely.
Jin looks good. Really good. His skin is glowing, posture confident in a way that wasn’t in college when he was all nervous energy and constantly confused.
“Holy shit,” Jin exhales, fork falling out of his hand with a clatter. “I can’t… what are you doing here? I mean, in Seoul. I thought you were in New York.”
“I moved back.” Jungkook scrapes the words from the depths of his throat, voice rougher than he expected. “For work.”
“Work.” Jin shakes his head slowly, processing the information. “Right. Of course. You look…” He trails off, studying Jungkook’s face intently. Like he’s searching for that boy he once called his ‘other’ best friend, or at the very least, trying to reconcile the person standing here with whoever he expected to see. “You look good.”
“Thanks.” Jungkook shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He’s perceptive to the fact that he’s still looming over Jin like a dark cloud of old memories while him and his date are sitting, that he’s interrupting their lunch, that this whole thing was a terrible mistake. “You too. You look really good.”
The man across from Jin clears his throat politely, and Jin's shoulders shake to life.
“Oh, uh, sorry.” Jin’s cheeks flush crimson red, and he gestures between them. “This is Kim Namjoon. He’s, uh… he’s my friend.”
Jungkook looks over to the aforementioned man. Namjoon’s eyes are kind; that’s the first thing he takes note of. They’re soft pools of warm honey, a contrast to the gray t-shirt he has on. Namjoon extends his hand with a warm smile, and Jungkook shakes it immediately. The grip is firm, equally as confident as Jin’s. Even though Jin introduced Namjoon as his friend, Jungkook is willing to bet money that he’s not telling the truth.
Not that Jin owes him the truth or anything.
“Nice to meet you,” Namjoon says. “Any friend of Jin’s…”
“We went to college together,” Jungkook interjects. He doesn’t know why he said that. It feels inadequate to reduce him down to a classmate, but it’s all he can manage right now under the weight of Kim Namjoon’s eyes.
“Ten years,” Jin mutters like he’s doing the math silently in his head. “Has it really been ten years?”
“Give or take.” Jungkook awkwardly plays with his fingers. He needs to stop lingering like an awkward specter.
“Sit,” Jin offers, pointing towards an empty chair that someone must have left at their table. “I mean, if you have time. You probably have somewhere to be.”
He has many places to be. In fact, the list is ever-growing.
“No, I—” Jungkook catches himself before he can say he has all the time in the world, which is both true and completely false. "I have a few minutes."
He pulls out the chair and sits obediently. He does his best to ignore the way Namjoon shifts to accommodate him.
“So… your work. Do you still work in investment banking?” Jin settles back in his chair.
“I do,” Jungkook replies. “Vice President now.”
“Wow.” Jin looks genuinely proud of him for a moment. It feels like his fist is clenched around his heart. “Very grown up of you.”
“Says the guy with a button-down on.” Jungkook tries to crack a smile but his lips waver.
“This old thing?” Jin plucks at one of the paint stains on his top. “Gallery opening last week. Bought it so I could look presentable and I guess I just never took it off.”
“Gallery opening?” Jungkook’s eyebrows lift. “You own a gallery now?”
“Yup. I’m a real painter now, if you can believe it. Like, for money. People buy my stuff.” His expression contorts into a mix of pride and disbelief. “I have a studio in Hongdae, show at a few galleries around the city.”
“That’s incredible.”
It truly is. Jungkook remembers Jin staying up until 3 AM working on some piece that would never see the light of day, paint under his fingernails and this look of complete adoration for art engrained on his face. “I always knew you’d make it work.”
“Did you?” Jin’s head tilts. “You were definitely convinced I’d starve to death someday.”
He appreciates Jin’s banter, although he’s not entirely sure if he’s worthy of it.
“Young and stupid.” Jungkook shrugs. “I thought practical meant safe.”
Jin takes a quick sip of his drink. “And now?”
Jungkook’s mind drifts off to his home in Gangnam, his daughter’s expensive piano lessons, his investment portfolio. And just as he’s about to answer, you slip into his thoughts again. You’ve been doing that all day.
It’s a flash of you talking about your bug project. A pocket in time where you two were just people, reconnecting in a coffee shop.
Jungkook changes his answer. “I’m not sure there’s really such a thing as safe.”
Jin’s eyes dim a little at his response. Namjoon has been fairly quiet throughout the exchange, but he’s observant.
“What about you?” Jin asks hesitantly. “Wife? Kids? The whole suburban dream?”
“Two kids. Jungwon and Hari. They’re five.” His tone gets warmer when he talks about them. For a second, he hesitates before proceeding. He’s not sure how much Jin knows about his life but an urge to tell him overtakes his body. “And yeah, married. My wife’s in marketing. Vice President at Publicis.”
“Oof, five year olds.” Namjoon smiles briefly. “That’s a fun age. I bet they keep you two busy.”
Jungkook looks over at him closely. He’s definitely handsome in an understated way. His dark hair cascades over his forehead as he adjusts his glasses, bicep flexing. Good for Jin. He deserves someone like him.
"They do," Jungkook agrees. "Jungwon's more like me. Quiet, overthinks everything. Hari's fucking fearless. She'll probably end up running the country or selling out arenas as a pianist."
“Sounds about right.” Jin laughs. There’s something hiding behind his eyes Jungkook can’t decipher. It passes too quickly to catch.
“So, what about you?” Jungkook averts his attention to Namjoon. Poor guy probably thought he was getting replaced by Jungkook earlier. “What do you do for work?”
“Software engineer.” Namjoon pushes around the remains of his food with his fork. “Been doing it for a while, but I work at a startup now. Get to work from home so that’s pretty sick.”
Smart and reliable. Jin is a lucky man.
“That shit’s tough.” Jungkook laughs. “I give you props.”
“Yeah, he’s smarter than me for sure.” Jin jumps in. “He was actually helping me out today to pick out some paint samples for my kitchen. Put me in front of a canvas and I'm fine, but the minute you mention home improvement, I turn into a complete disaster."
Namjoon rolls his eyes. “All I did was pick up the paint bucket for you.”
"You also stopped me from buying that hideous green color."
"It was chartreuse, Jin. Chartreuse."
Jungkook’s eyes volley between them, watching as they continue to poke and prod at each other. They’re so comfortable with each other. There's an ease between them that makes his chest tight. Not jealousy, exactly. It’s worse, and it’s creeping up his spine and making a home at the base of his throat.
It hits him then: how many other things had changed while he was gone? How many conversations has he missed, how many inside jokes, how many days picking out paint colors?
He knows he’s being naive. The world did not need to wait for him. It was meant to spin on its axis, meant to rotate regardless of anyone’s decisions. But he suddenly feels sick at how much time passed him by while he was in New York, trying to convince himself his new life was the life he always wanted.
“Jungkook, you should hang out with us sometime.”
Namjoon's voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, and Jungkook blinks, trying to focus. The invitation is kind, genuine, and it makes everything so much worse.
He needs to get the fuck out of there. He needs to go home now. He needs to get fresh air.
“U-uh. yeah. Definitely. I would… that would be great.”
Jin's eyes narrow, watching Jungkook's color drain in real time. He was always too good at reading people.
“Cool. I’ll ask Jin to set something up.” Namjoon pats his shoulder.
Jungkook nods, already pushing back from the table. "I should... I have to pick up my kids soon."
"Of course." Jin stands too, and for a moment they're both just standing there awkwardly.
“Right. Well, I’ll be off.” Jungkook begins to back towards the exit, reaching for his pocket where his phone is. “It was great, uh, to see you, Jin.”
He can't do this. He can't do any of it.
“Nice meeting you, Namjoon.” The words echo out as he’s already facing the door, hands shaking as he pulls up Sana’s contact.
He types quickly: “hi baby, i’m so sorry to do this but i’m trapped on a work call. any way you can get the kids?”
They’ve both done this before — covered for each other when life gets overwhelming. She’s usually very understanding, and he is for her.
He pushes open the door, rushes outside, and takes a big gulp of the cool air as if he’s been drowning. He lets it fill up every inch of his lungs.
Looking up at the sky, the clouds are still gray and daunting. They’re just as fast-moving as they were earlier, expelling raindrops onto the streets of Seoul.
Jungkook stares at those clouds. Lets the rain collect on his face.
He’s crying. When did he start crying?
The rain mixes with his tears until he can't tell the difference between what's falling from the sky and what's falling from his eyes, salt and water blurring on his lips.
Standing here in the rain, watching his past live through windows, he knows his luck ran out a long time ago.
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: Heavy chapter ahead? Also, comments and reblogs are my fuel so please let me know if you still want to read the story ahehe
Masterlist, Part X of __
“She’s not here.”
Seokjin’s brows pinched together, his usual demeanor of lightness gone as though it had never been there in the first place. He tilted his head, looking intensely at the head of your department as though if he didn’t say that you were here right now, there would be consequences to pay.
“Do you care to repeat that?” he asked in a conversationalist tone of his. One would assume that he was asking for a weather and that the question held no weight had the dark glint in his eyes not been anything but casual.
Your department head—an older man, composed and experienced—visibly stiffened. His throat bobbed in a swallow as he forced a polite smile. “I-I meant she’s not currently on-site. She called in sick this morning. Said she needed the day off,” he clarified quickly, hands clasped in front of him to mask the way his fingers twitched. “I’m sure she’ll be back shortly. Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Kim?”
Seokjin didn’t respond right away. Instead, he simply stared at the man. Just stared, as if weighing something, calculating in a way that made the temperature in the office drop several degrees.
Then he smiled.
But it wasn’t the kind of smile that warmed a room. It was the kind that made your stomach twist and your instincts scream.
“No,” Seokjin said, finally. “You can’t.”
He turned on his heel, coat swaying gently behind him, his phone already in hand as he walked away. His fingers moved with clinical precision, a message being typed, a call perhaps queued. Whatever it was, it wasn’t casual. And it certainly wasn’t good.
His jaw ticked as he stepped into the elevator, the polished doors reflecting the tight line of his mouth, the flicker of restrained emotion in his eyes. Anger? Worry? Hurt? Even he didn’t know. Not yet.
Had he spooked you with his confession last night?
Had his feelings stopped being reciprocated?
Had…he moved too slow that you lost interest?
Maybe he had moved too slow. Too cautious. Too afraid of crossing a line that you had already quietly erased behind him.
His last few messages sat there, unread. Delivered, but never seen.
His calls—rung out, ignored. Not declined, not blocked. Just unanswered.
He hated this feeling. He hated now knowing where you were. He hated not having you in front of him where he could see you. He hated not having access to you like you’d slipped through his fingers and he wasn’t even sure when.. He let out a laugh. Dry. Cold. Emotionless.
He laughed at the realization that he had quite turned into his father.
That obsessive son of a bitch.
He used to swear he was nothing like him. That he would never become the man who treated people like possessions, who clawed and controlled and manipulated because that was the only way he knew how to love. The man who loved violently. Selfishly. With chains instead of touch.
But here Seokjin was—phone in hand, jaw clenched, heart pounding because he couldn’t find you.
No.
He shut his eyes, drew in a breath that didn’t reach his lungs.
He was still there. He would not lose himself. He wasn’t like his father and you weren’t his mother.
You were you.
You were kind and brilliant and warm and—
Sick.
That was all this was.
You were just sick, right? You were just too sick to answer his calls. Of course. It was just that. Nothing had happened. No one had touched you. No one had hurt you. No one had taken you from him. You had not taken yourself away from him.
He opened his eyes and stared at your name on the screen again, his thumb hovering just above the last message he’d sent.
Call me when you wake up. I’ll come to you.
--
You woke up to the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.
As soon as you opened your eyes, a splitting headache pulsed just behind your eyes. It felt like your skull was caught in a vice grip. A groan tore from your throat, raw and small, as your fingers twitched against the stiff sheets beneath them.
A nurse appeared almost instantly, rushing to your side. “Oh good, you’re awake, dear,” she adjusted your dextrose with practiced precision
You blinked slowly, trying to sit up—immediately regretting it as the room tilted sideways.
“W-What happened?” you rasped.
The nurse offered a kind smile, placing a hand on your shoulder to keep you from straining. “You passed out in the ER after getting your arm checked. You were burning up with fever when you went here. Do you remember anything?”
Memory came crashing down at you. What transpired last night…Seokjin, his confession… His warmth when he said good night. And then the gang your father loved to borrow money from, the ones who came collecting month after month, each visit worse than the last despite trying to pay them on time.
The bruising grip on your arm. The threat, the sneer.
The way your knees buckled afterward.
The panic. The cold sweat.
And finally, stumbling into the ER—alone—trying to breathe through it.
“You’re safe here, dear. The doctor will see you in a while. Try to rest, okay?”
But rest did not come. You laid awake that night. One moment you were happy, in the verge of falling for someone as perfect as Kim Seokjin until your old life reminded you that you were trash compared to him. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to envision your life alongside his. Now the world had pulled you back down by the ankles. Reminded you who you were. Where you came from. What you could never outrun.
Some parents did everything for their child. Some parents would move heaven and earth to provide for their child. Some parents would shield their child from the harshness of the world.
Funny enough, yours didn’t.
Your mother died trying. She was tired, worn thin, but she tried. She held the house together with trembling hands and sleepless nights. When your mother died, you father even got worse. He would drown his sorrow with alcohol. When that was no longer enough, he turned to drugs.
And when even the high couldn’t numb whatever haunted him, he found the one thing more destructive than both: Gambling.
You shut your eyes, the ceiling a blur through the sting.
He gambled away the funeral money. The rent. Your college savings. The electricity. The food. Your safety.
Until men with sharp smiles and cruel laughter started showing up at your door asking to speak with “Daddy.”
Until they started speaking to you instead.
The same men who found you again last night. The same ones who would go to you instead of your father now.
The same ones who reminded you that no matter how far you got, you were still just collateral in someone else’s debt.
You chuckled at your misery. How could you even dare to like someone as perfect as Seokjin?
You wrapped your arms around yourself, blinking away the sudden sting in your eyes—just in time to hear the door open.
A figure stepped in, clipboard in hand.
“Ms. Y/N?”
You straightened as best as you could in the hospital bed, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, forcing a small smile.
“Good evening, Doc.”
The doctor nodded, his expression professional but kind. He glanced down at your chart before returning his eyes to you.
“You came into the ER last night complaining of pain in your arm. You told the triage nurse you fell on it?”
You nodded stiffly. “Yes.”
“Well,” he continued, “good news is that it’s not broken. But it is sprained, and the inflammation around your wrist is significant. I’ll prescribe a mild painkiller and an anti-inflammatory. We’ll also have it wrapped to stabilize the joint.”
You gave him a tight, polite smile, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in your wrist that seemed to pulse in time with your headache. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He paused, then looked up again—this time his gaze lingered a bit longer.
“There were some… bruises noted along your arm,” he said gently. “Not consistent with a simple fall.”
You froze. Just for a second. Just enough for your stomach to twist.
“I—I must’ve hit something on the way down,” you said quickly. Too quickly.
The doctor gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, but his eyes didn’t quite believe you.
Still, he didn’t press. “Alright. I’ll send the nurse in shortly to wrap your wrist. You should be able to go home in a few hours. But I recommend rest. And next time, don’t go to a hospital two hours away from your residence.”
You didn’t respond. Just offered a polite nod and turned your face to the window.
You were discharged the next day.
You had no one to take you home. Suffice to say, you had only yourself.
After buying the medicine from the pharmacy, you went home. The two-hour ride was too much for you; your thoughts were loud, your heart numb. Two hours of nausea and thoughts you couldn’t outrun.
Two hours of silence and strangers, of shivering beneath your coat, of your injured arm throbbing every time the bus jolted.
Where could you even go that they wouldn’t follow?
Despite cutting your father off and moving so far away from him, they still found you. Was there no escape in this life?
When the bus finally hissed to a stop, you stood slowly, legs unsteady. Your coat hung limp around you, concealing the fresh bandage on your wrist. You wrapped your uninjured arm protectively around it, holding it close.
You walked with your eyes to the ground. Step by step. Heavy and dull. The weight in your chest deeper than fatigue.
You didn’t see him at first.
Not until he said your name.
Not until his voice—low, rough, restrained—cut through the fog in your head like lightning.
“Sunshine…”
You froze.
Your breath caught.
Slowly, disbelievingly, you looked up.
And there he was.
Seokjin.
Standing at the edge of the sidewalk like he'd been waiting for hours. His coat open, eyes stormy and tired and wildly relieved.
He took one step toward you, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you yet.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asked, voice low, shaking—but not from anger.
From fear.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant—guarded, brittle.
“What do you mean what am I doing here? You were gone for two days. No calls. No messages. Nothing. Am I not allowed to worry?”
You didn’t meet his eyes because if you did, you’d break. How do you look at someone you want with your entire being and tell him that you didn’t want him? How do you look at someone so perfect and tell him that he shouldn’t want someone as tainted as you?
“You’re not allowed to worry,” you said, voice tight. “Why would you?”
His expression cracked, confusion and pain flickering across his face.
“Sunsh—”
“And don’t come here anymore,” you cut in sharply, stepping back toward your apartment door. Your fingers shook as you reached for your keys, but you forced them still.
“Wait—” he called out, moving instinctively.
His hand shot out to stop you, to hold onto you—but he grabbed your injured arm.
A sharp jolt of pain lanced through you, white-hot and sudden.
You gasped, the sound leaving your mouth like a sob you tried too hard to swallow, and a whine slipped free before you could stop it.
Seokjin froze.
His eyes dropped to your wrist—the one hidden beneath your coat.
The one he now felt was wrapped.
You pushed him away as hard as you could, but he held on as gently as he could.
His brows pinched, jaw tight, gaze flickering between your eyes and your arm.
And then, with a touch too careful, too fast for you to stop, he brushed back the edge of your coat.
The fabric fell away.
And there it was.
Your bandaged wrist.
Angry and bruised. Swollen beneath medical gauze.
Evidence.
Real. Inarguable.
The breath he drew in was sharp—quiet, but brutal.
His entire body stiffened like something inside him had just cracked.
Summary: Two friends catch up on a beautiful day in Amsterdam.
Pairing: Namjoon x OC, Yoongi x OC (different OCs)
Genre: Humour, friendship, mild angst
Word count: 5 K
Rating: 18+
Warnings: smoking ig?
A/N: Yes, it's me, rearing my overworked head from amidst PPTs and strongly-worded emails. No prologue to this, just hope you enjoy it. Takes place about a month after Pretty Girls.
Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @faearchives @margopinkerton @purpleseoul7 @confessionsofamarshlily@whoisbts @jihopesjoint @kflixnet @cuntessaiii @nightappple (drop a message if you want to be added)
Listen to: "with a little help from my friends" by the beatles
namjoon masterlist | yoongi masterlist | main masterlist
Kaya takes a seat at the outdoor table that the waitress gestures to and frees her hair from its scrunchie, shaking it out. The sun is bright today, but the umbrella over the table helps and her sunglasses block out the remaining.
As she examines the menu, she senses a shadow fall over the table. Looking up, she raises an eyebrow.
“A pretty lady, sitting all alone?” His tone is dry, betraying only a hint of sarcasm.
“Unfortunately, my boyfriend has to work.” Kaya tilts her head slightly. “Unless you could convince him to take a break.”
Yoongi flashes her a grin as he takes off his sunglasses, and takes the seat opposite her. “If you can’t, I don’t know who can.”
Kaya rolls her eyes, partly amused, and hands him the menu. “The hazelnut latte is to die for,” she informs him, taking off her own sunglasses and squinting slightly at the sudden brightness.
“I’d love to, but I’m on tour,” he says, sounding regretful. “How’s the regular cold brew?”
After going back and forth on the coffee for a couple of minutes, both of them place their orders for food as well.
“So? How’s tour going?” she asks, leaning back in her chair. “Tell me something exciting.”
Yoongi scoffs. “Tour is the least exciting time. Aside from performing, of course,” he amends. “But otherwise, pretty boring.”
“What? That can’t possibly be true. I always hear so much gossip when you guys are on tour or travelling. I remember following the Taehyung and Dilara Europe saga like a reality show, just minus the Reddit commentary.”
“Yeah, it’s not the tour that’s exciting, it’s the number of people on tour,” he points out. “You can’t tell me those two weren’t living in their own k-drama half the time. But touring solo is… different.”
“Wow,” she comments, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re actually missing them? Remember when you asked me when kids outgrow the sugar rush phase?”
Yoongi chuckles, presumably at the memory. “Shockingly enough, I am missing that. But, yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s almost done. Just Seoul after this and then…” He trails off, biting his lip.
She nods, ducking her head and feeling an awkward relief when their coffees arrive. The day hasn’t yet reached the point where such topics need to be brought up. “Any hot after party plans tonight?” she asks, stirring her Vietnamese coffee.
“God, no,” he replies. “Actually, that might be the only thing I don’t miss about a regular tour. It was fun with all of us being together, but it was so hard to get some sleep.”
“No way. Really? Wouldn’t everyone be tired?”
“You would think. But someone would be playing a video game or there would be something to film -” He shakes his head dismissively. “I’m not young anymore, you know. I need my rest.”
“Thirty really came out of nowhere, huh,” says Kaya knowingly.
“Tell me about it.” Yoongi shakes his head, leaning away from the table as their food arrives. Even when the waitress leaves, he doesn’t immediately begin eating like Kaya does. “Would you believe it if I told you my mother asked me about my plans to marry?”
Kaya almost chokes on a piece of bread. Yoongi swears under his breath as she gulps down water before guffawing. “Wow, I wish I could’ve seen that,” she teases, laughing. “But it’s not entirely unexpected, is it?” she adds after about half a minute, still chuckling.
“Actually, it is,” he disagrees, “because I don’t think I’ve hinted at anything that might cause her to ask such a question.”
Kaya raises her eyebrows but says nothing. The girl she’d met at Hybe, the slender one who’d spoken with an Australian accent and glanced at Yoongi the way a teenager looked at her first crush, comes to mind. But something tells her Yoongi would rather stick his fork in his eye than admit anything to her right now.
“So what’d you tell her?”
“The correct thing,” he replies, stabbing his eggs, “which is nothing at all.”
“Sounds about right.” She takes a sip of water. “If it helps, my mom asked me the exact same question a little while ago, so I get where you’re coming from.”
Yoongi gives her a mild look as he chews. “I think it’s a much more realistic scenario in your case.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can expect Namjoon to get down on one knee any day now,” she says sarcastically, before pausing. “Actually he’s done that already so I probably shouldn’t joke about it.”
He chuckles. “You know, if he finds out you want a proposal right now, I bet he’d do it,” he says seriously.
Kaya widens her eyes and scoffs when he grins at his plate. “Don’t even think about it, Yoongi. He sounds so stressed every time I talk to him. The last thing I want is for him to get a heart attack at twenty-nine over some random relationship pressure.”
“I don’t think it would be all that much pressure, honestly.” He shrugs. “From what I can tell.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather not take that risk.”
“He’s gotten a lot better at managing his stress over the years,” points out Yoongi. “I don’t know if you know this, but we’ve lived together for almost thirteen years.”
Kaya takes a slow sip of her coffee and nods. “It’s come up.”
“So I can confirm he’s getting better at it.”
“No, I know he is,” she admits, sighing. Her concern is slightly different, but she doesn’t know if she can put it into words. She doesn’t even know if she should, for fear of jinxing it.
She can sense Yoongi’s gaze on her and busies herself with sprinkling seasoning over her remaining breakfast. “Are you planning to come to Korea any time soon?”
“Yeah,” she answers. “Namjoon and I are meeting in Spain in July, so I’ll probably come around September. Before he leaves.”
He hums, a little too knowingly for her liking. “What’s in Spain?”
“A vacation?” She sighs, stretching back in her chair. “Summer in the south of Europe, eating paella and going on road trips across the country. But, you know,” she amends, straightening back up. “With his family this time.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “You’re not nervous,” he states.
“I’m not nervous,” she replies, a little too quickly. “It’ll be different, though. But I like his sister,” she adds honestly. “I’ve realised I’m not great at bonding with girls outside of uni.”
“I’ve heard differently,” he disagrees. He meets Kaya’s eyes, who says nothing, until his cheeks start to redden and he looks away. “We’re not strangers, you know,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.
Kaya grins, no need for her to ask who “we” is. “I should count Dilara, though,” she admits, choosing not to embarrass him any further.
“Oh, yeah, it’ll kill her if you don’t.”
She nods, polishing off the last of her panini and sitting back in her chair. “What about you, Min Yoongi? Any vacation plans?”
“Not really,” he says dismissively. “I’m not really a vacation kind of person.”
Kaya squints, unimpressed. “Really? You don’t like vacations? Be less of a pick-me, Yoongi.”
Yoongi snorts, his gummy smile flashing momentarily and lighting up his whole face. “I’ve been travelling for three months, non-stop. I love touring but the thought of getting back on a flight again…” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his long, thick hair. “I miss home way too much. I want to just stay in Korea for as long as I can for a bit.”
“Yeah?” She tries to picture it, staying in her apartment and walking around Amsterdam for the entire year and decides she can’t. “Will you take time off, though? Or will you head back into the studio the moment you set foot in Seoul?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Is it? Workaholics can recognise each other in the wild, you know.”
“I miss the studio, too,” he says, sounding a bit defensive. “I miss my chair and the lighting. I miss the creative energy and the other producers and… even the coffee, honestly.” He sips on his cold brew as if to make a point. “Not bitter enough,” he informs her.
“I’m sure the barista will get right on that,” she says dryly. “But fair enough. Your studio is your happy place.”
He nods before his gaze freezes abruptly on something across the street. A moment later, his eyes flicker back down to his plate and he sighs.
“Looks like I’ve been spotted,” he mutters. “Get ready to have your picture splashed on the internet for ten minutes before people move on.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she mutters in response, trying to ignore how her body tenses automatically. “Do you want to leave? We can take the rest of our coffee to go.”
He huffs quietly. “But it’s so nice here,” he half-whines. “No, but you know what? Namjoon will overthink himself to death if you end up on Twitter again,” he says quickly, standing up, “and that’s not what he needs right now.”
“Well, you are the one who’s lived with him for thirteen years,” she agrees, standing up as well, as they both reach for their wallets and drop a couple of bills on the table. “So I’ll take your word for it.”
—
As it turns out, the fans who’d spotted him didn’t seem to have taken any pictures. But Yoongi doesn’t mind strolling about the city. Amsterdam is beautiful and it is a rare situation of having a day off in a city where he actually has a friend.
They talk about nothing in particular, flitting between work and friends and movies they’ve seen as they sip on chilled coffees, the sun dimmer than it was a while ago. Yoongi can sense that Kaya is trying to keep the tone light, and he’s almost certain it’s due to their impending enlistment.
“That spot right there,” says Kaya, after a few minutes of comfortable silence, pointing to a spot by the pier, “is till where the line ended when the first boba place opened up here a few years ago.” She shudders. “It was madness.”
“You weren’t in line, I suppose?”
“Sure I was, but I had the sense to get there early,” she replies with dignity. “And I brought a research paper to study while I waited so who won, really?”
Yoongi chuckles as he finishes his coffee and chucks the plastic glass in a nearby bin. “It’s too early for a drink, isn’t it?” he asks ruefully.
Kaya laughs. “I’d say so. But I get what you mean,” she adds after a moment. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing to take some edge off.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You know of a place that won’t judge us for ordering drinks at -“ He checks his watch “- one pm?”
“Not exactly,” she admits, taking a noisy last sip of her Vietnamese coffee and throwing the empty glass in the next bin. “Do you remember that night in the dorm when I was jet lagged and everyone else was asleep?”
Yoongi slows down. “And I reached late from the studio, with…” He raises his eyebrows again, noting how she nods.
“Come on,” she says, patting his arm and beckoning him to follow her. “My apartment’s just around the corner.”
Ten minutes later, Yoongi finds himself in Kaya’s apartment, a one bedroom studio that reminds him of a college dorm combined with a student library. Academic books and stacks of stapled pages litter the chipped coffee table and the circular dining table by the kitchen, with stray cups abandoned here and there. The television looks untouched, but the sofa is soft and cozy, with a woven throw placed over the back.
“Pass me the paper?”
Yoongi obeys, taking a seat on the carpeted area like she is and leaning back against the side of the sofa, his head cushioned against a HYBE hoodie. He pushes the curtain forward slightly, taking care to ensure he can’t be seen from the outside and wondering if he’s being paranoid.
“There we go,” she mutters, licking the edge of the paper and twisting the end expertly. Reaching for a lighter on the shelf beside her, she places the joint between her lips and lights it, taking a deep drag and groaning softly as she exhales.
She offers it to Yoongi and he takes it without argument. The smell is a rare, almost taboo one, and he welcomes the freedom with which he can indulge in this right now. He feels the smoke exit his sinuses through his nose and sighs, closing his eyes.
He takes another drag, realising somewhere the risk he’s taking if he were to be discovered stoned by anyone aside from his manager. His eyes flutter open at a metallic sound to see Kaya sliding an ashtray towards him before settling low into a beanbag chair, stretching her denim clad legs straight on the floor and crossing her ankles.
“You’re sure we won’t be seen?” he asks her, a bit doubtfully as he passes the joint back to her.
“Who knows,” she murmurs, which doesn’t help him much. “But no one will care,” she adds, sounding more convinced this time. “Most of this building is just students. Or TAs. And it’s Amsterdam.”
Kaya gives him a reassuring smile, but he can see her eyes already relaxing. Yoongi nods, not hating the feeling of being somewhere other than a hotel.
“So how often do you do this?” he asks curiously.
“Not that often,” she answers, shrugging. “Once every few weeks, maybe? Sometimes more often, but then it’s just a few drags, not more.” She shrugs, a little sheepishly. “It’s been a long few weeks.”
“No judgement,” he states honestly, taking another puff. The sun has disappeared behind clouds now, just as she’d predicted, and there’s a cool breeze that feels like it’s putting him to sleep. “You smoke up with Namjoon, too?” He asks, privately unable to picture it.
“Nah, he’s not a fan,” she admits. “He thinks it ‘compromises his faculties’. But it’s better than nicotine,” she points out.
“True,” he says fairly. “You know, I’m looking forward to going home for sure but… sometimes it’s good to get away,” he confesses in a murmur.
Kaya hums. “I’m sure.”
“Everyone’s worried about enlisting,” he says after a moment. “But no one wants to talk about it - which I get, believe me. But it’s coming out in other ways and it’s just -“ He breaks off and exhales.
Kaya doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Yoongi is afraid he’s ruined the mood. “Like what?”
“Just the usual.” He shrugs. “We were on a team call a couple days ago and it just got so… chaotic. Everybody just had to be heard and Namjoon started getting overwhelmed and I started getting impatient…” He trails off, still uncomfortable about it. “And then at one point, Taehyung and Jungkook started snapping at each other over something silly and then there was no point continuing,” he finished.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I think Hoseok mediated later but I’m not sure how much. Can’t really blame him, though,” he adds, shaking his head. “He’s happy now - like, really happy. Probably happier than the rest of us put together.” It’s a few seconds before he realised what he’s said. “I mean - Namjoon’s happy, too,” he adds quickly. “He’s - I mean, we’re all -“ He struggles for the word, and it occurs to him that his brain is actually moving slower than usual.
But thankfully Kaya chuckles. “It’s okay. I get what you mean. Hard to match Hobi’s level of happiness on a normal day.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, relieved. “He used to overcompensate a lot for that when we were younger but he’s become a lot more comfortable in his skin now.”
“Aw, look at you talking so fondly about your kids,” she teases, making him roll his eyes but unable to suppress a smile. “I’m sure you grew up quite a bit, too. You give me serious teen emo vibes, you know.”
“No way, I was too hardcore for that,” he argues, waving a hand lazily. “I was a rapper.”
“Bullshit. I’ve seen pictures.”
“I have pictures. In fact -“ He fishes out his phone and navigates to his gallery, the screen changing with a smooth and flowy movement. “Tell me I didn’t look at least a little out of place,” he says, passing the phone to her.
Kaya takes it excitedly. “Min Yoongi opening the vault,” she remarks, the joint propped between her index and middle finger as she holds the phone. “Who would’ve thunk?”
“Well, you got me nice and high.”
She chortles, swiping through the screen. “Hardcore as hell, Yoongi,” she admits, “especially with the headband.” She keeps scrolling, ignoring his scoff of disbelief. “Wow, I wish I’d met you guys back then.”
“You wouldn’t be dating one of us if you had, trust me.”
“That’s probably true,” she agrees good-naturedly. “Oh, my God,” she says after a moment, her jaw dropping as she tilts the phone towards him to reveal a picture of a lanky, skinny, grinning seventeen year old Kim Namjoon.
Yoongi peers at it and nods. “Yes, I stand by my original statement.”
“Shut up,” she admonishes him, taking another drag and admiring the picture. “He’s so cute.”
“He was such a dork,” he adds, but he can hear the grudging warmth in his own voice.
“Cute,” she repeats. “This is probably what my son will look like one day,” she muses, before pausing, her smile fading slightly. “Wow, this stuff is strong,” she comments, placing the joint on the ashtray and handing Yoongi back his phone. “Shut up,” she warns him as he bursts out laughing.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” he says in between his laughter, glancing at the picture again before locking his phone.
“I can’t either,” she admits, looking embarrassed as she runs her hands over her face. “Don’t you dare tell him I did.”
“I’m afraid I can’t promise either way,” he says wryly, knowing he would never. Kaya rolls her eyes but doesn’t press, and he thinks she knows as well. “You’ve thought about that stuff, though?” he asks after a moment. “You really want kids?”
“Absolutely,” she says, without missing a beat.
Yoongi knows for sure it’s the weed that’s making him actually ask these questions so directly, but he can’t seem to stop. “Wow. You guys have talked about it?”
“Not in so many words,” she admits. “But if he hasn’t picked up on it in four years, then we’ve got a problem.” She stretches and sighs, looking out of her balcony as Yoongi lights the end of the joint again. “Do you really think he’s happy, though?”
He frowns slightly; all the joking seems to have left her voice very suddenly. “Of course he is,” he says, hearing his voice come out slow and soothing. “With you, definitely.”
After what seems like ages, Kaya responds.
“Sometimes it feels like…” She trails off, and he isn’t even sure if she’s meaning to say it out loud. “Sometimes it feels like he’s… thinking too much. And he’s thinking so much and he’s analysing and overthinking and… I don’t know if he remembers to be happy.” She bites her lip and Yoongi doesn’t know if he’s imagining the tremble in her voice. “I don’t know if I can do anything about it.”
Yoongi blinks; despite his mind swimming, it’s clear in a slow and bleary way that he cannot let Kaya think like this. It would disrupt everything. “Not true,” he blurts out, frowning when she looks over at him. “He is happy. He’s stressed and overworked and - and -“ The English word escapes him “- thinks way too much,” he says finally, echoing her words. “But you might be the best thing that ever happened to him.”
Kaya looks doubtful, but a shaky smile flits across her face. Yoongi nudges her foot with his.
“Trust me. I’ve known him for thirteen years.”
That makes her chuckle. “That’s true, you have,” she agrees, rubbing her eyes and sighing. “This is the downside of getting high sometimes.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he says reassuringly. The joint is almost over by now, but Yoongi can’t remember feeling this relaxed in a long time. “It’s just a matter of time before you and Namjoon have a bunch of babies who write poetry about Economics and skulk around museums all over the world.”
Kaya laughs, and Yoongi is glad to hear it. “Don’t make me regret saying that in front of you,” she says, throwing a cushion at him. He catches it and slides further down on the floor, placing it underneath his head and facing the ceiling.
Outside, it starts to drizzle. Kaya produces a bag of soy chips from somewhere and even though there’s a faraway voice in the corner of his mind that sounds like his choreographer, reminding him that he’s on tour, his hand moves automatically towards the chips, each one tasting better than the last.
Kaya’s ceiling is a dull beige, with a fan just off centre. It bothers him, but the rain outside hits the roof over her balcony in a somewhat rhythmical cadence, and he finds himself tapping the air with the beat.
“Do you talk to her often?”
The words tumble out of his mouth before his brain has a chance to think it over.
To his relief, Kaya doesn’t ask who. “Sometimes. She’s not particularly talkative.”
“That’s true.” Something loosens in his chest, something he didn’t even know was tight in the first place. He realises it’s the first time in months he’s talked about her to someone who isn’t her colleague. “Is she… how is she?”
“Okay, I guess? I don’t really have a benchmark,” she says. There’s a pause. “Why do you ask?”
Yoongi is glad his thoughts aren’t particularly coherent right now, for he isn’t sure how to articulate the combined emotions of worry, affection and longing in the particular context of Miso’s life and his place in it. His desire to be back home, in Seoul, in the Hybe building and in the same corridors as her feels overwhelming all of a sudden.
He talks to her, too - but it’s not the same, knowing that she might be a different person with someone else, with a personality, interests and a way of talking that he hasn’t seen. He doesn’t know how to express that learning anything about her, even the smallest thing, can help him feel just a little closer to her.
Perhaps Kaya senses this, for she volunteers the information herself.
“We talk mostly during my evenings, which means she seems to be working late these days,” she offers.
Yes, that makes sense. She’s working on an album with Donghyuk for a group’s much awaited comeback, so it would fit that she’s burning the midnight oil. He imagines it if he were back home: stealing a few moments during a coffee break, walking her to her car until the point her driver can spot them, sharing a cigarette in the darkness between kisses that are all lips and tongue and teeth.
“What do you talk about?” he asks, placing his hands under his head, his eyes trained on the slow spinning fan.
“Random stuff,” answers Kaya. “I asked her for recommendations for an offbeat record store in Seoul because I wanted to get a Lana del Rey vinyl for Jae-Lin.”
“Which store?”
“This place in Jung-gu. I can’t remember the name.”
A record store. Yoongi is quiet for a few seconds, digesting this. “What else?”
“Um…” Kaya hums absently while rain picks up outside, the breeze now sprinkled with tiny droplets of water. “She told me about Australia. Of course, it came up in the context of how Seoul has a dearth of good lamb chops. But apparently Cable Beach is her favourite one.”
Cable beach. This is new information. As far as Yoongi knows, aside from mentioning her studies in Australia as a throwaway, she’s never talked about her life there. “She likes the beach,” he states, the words sounding strange on his tongue.
“Well, Australia is like eighty percent beaches,” points out Kaya. “God, I miss the beach. We should all take a trip to Ibiza,” she announces suddenly. “I’m gonna text Namjoon - wait…”
Yoongi has the sudden urge to call Miso, casually at first, but then to ask her to tell him about the beaches. For a moment, he struggles to remember the name Kaya just mentioned, but then it comes back to him. Cable Beach.
He glances at Kaya, who hasn’t even picked up her phone, and is instead humming softly while tracing a shape on the floor with her shoe.
“What else do you talk about?”
Kaya continues humming but frowns mildly, before looking up at him. Something in her gaze makes him look away, and he shrugs unnecessarily.
“Not much,” she answers after a moment. “Apparently Hybe needs to improve its coffee on the floor.”
“Anything else?”
“Not really.”
He exhales deeply, fairly certain she’s still watching him. He bites his lip, staring steadily at the off centre ceiling fan.
“She did mention you a couple times,” says Kaya, after a few beats. “Something about how much you curse under your breath while producing.”
A merry jolt passes through Yoongi’s stomach without warning. “Oh, yeah?”
“Mhm. And she said you’re a lot less annoying than you were the first time you met two years ago.”
Yoongi nods matter-of-factly. The sky is a cool grey outside and the fine droplets of water in the breeze feel sublime on his skin. He gazes at the fan, his chest floating easily at what can only be considered a compliment of the highest order from Miso.
A soft clicking sound makes him snap around to look at Kaya, who’s lowering her phone. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” she says innocently. “Just a picture of Min Yoongi looking the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”
It’s at this point that he realises he’s been smiling - no, not smiling, but beaming - at the ceiling, and he can feel the blood rush to his face.
“Kaya,” he says warningly, but he hears it come out more pleadingly than anything.
“You have a very nice smile, you know,” she says kindly.
“I - thank you. But -“
Kaya simply smiles back at him and he relaxes, suddenly sure that she knows what he’s asking and that she’s accepted.
“You’re serious about her, aren’t you?” she asks, and all the teasing has left her voice.
Am I? Ordinarily, he would say yes. But he can’t fathom using terms that apply to regular relationships to their… situation. “It’s not that simple,” he says at last.
“I can tell she’s… going through something. But I didn’t want to pry. She never talks about her family,” she adds.
That sounds about right. “Speaking of not being happy,” he mutters.
“She isn’t?” But it hardly sounds like a question.
“I don’t think she’s even trying to be,” he murmurs, shocking himself a little at this admission. But the moment he says it he knows it to be true, that any fight left in her is only enough to get by.
Yoongi feels his face burn and his eyes sting. Kaya excuses herself to use the washroom and he’s instantly sure it’s to give him privacy. He sniffs and presses his thumb and index finger into the corners of his eyes, taking a deep breath until he can feel his face come back to normal.
He sits up, his head feeling light but steadier than it was a little while ago. The view outside is beautiful, stormy yet calm, and Yoongi’s legs take him to the balcony of their own accord. Kaya joins him a minute later, and they watch the rain for a bit.
“I should head,” he says, turning his towards her slightly.
She nods. “Okay.” She doesn’t offer for him to stay over for which he’s glad, knowing they both would like their evenings to themselves.
“No wonder Namjoon likes coming here so often,” he muses. “Aside from seeing you, of course,” he adds, and she chuckles.
“Will you ask him to… to take it a little easy?” Kaya asks, looking up at him, her eyes brown and wide and doe-like. “Just once in a while. Just to live in the moment.”
Yoongi nods. “Of course. Don’t worry,” he says after a moment. “He knows what’s important. And before you know it, you’re going to have a bunch of little Namjoons and Kayas and teaching them to roll joints in Korean.”
She snickers and punches his shoulder half-heartedly, shaking her head as he puts an arm around her shoulders. “Bunch is a little much. And I don’t think I’ll be teaching them either of those things. Pot is a college rite of passage and… for someone with Korean family members and a Korean boyfriend, I suck at the language,” she mutters shamefully.
“It’s not easy,” he reassures her, squeezing her shoulder. “You can practice, though.”
“I try every time I go back there,” she tells him, sounding disgruntled, “but I can hear how terrible I sound and it makes me so self-conscious that I just… can’t. Dilara is a lot better,” she adds enviously.
“Yeah, for someone who doesn’t live there, she’s not bad,” admits Yoongi. He drops his arm from around her, knowing the day has come to an end. “Alright.”
“Yeah.”
They turn around together and cross the expanse of her tiny living room until they stop at the front door.
“Have a good concert tomorrow,” she says as they give each other a friendly hug. “Can’t wait to read the thirst tweets after.”
It’s his turn to playfully flick her shoulder. “Eat something decent tonight. Not chips,” he adds. “And, uh…” He swallows, his eyes flickering to the floor.
“Yeah?” she asks softly.
“Will you…” He doesn’t know where to start. “Will you… just ask her about Australia, once in a while?”
Kaya nods. “Absolutely.”
“Thanks.” With one last one-armed hug, Yoongi heads back to his hotel.
—
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∞ Strangers to friends to lovers, university au, slow burn ∞
You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus’s 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t.
A/N: Short, but... well, not sweet. Probably not what you're expecting. Takes place almost two years after A Stormy Night.
Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @margopinkerton, @faearchives, @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @kflixnet @jihopesjoint (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)
Listen to: "thinking of you" by katy perry
taehyung masterlist| main masterlist
Dilara wakes up in a cold sweat, her heart beating a mile a minute. The dream was vivid, like a 4D movie where she couldn't run out of the theatre. She closes her eyes again, snapping them open a moment later when the image behind her eyelids stay the same: a broken body, camouflaged comrades, smoke and patches of fire, and death. Everywhere.
She doesn’t know where the images came from; probably a combination of the handful of war movies she's seen her entire life. But the faces weren't from the movies. They were familiar; achingly, heartbreakingly familiar, enough that the thought of them once again makes her stomach churn painfully. A moment later, she stumbles out of her bed and runs to the bathroom where she falls to her knees and vomits into the toilet.
Her throat burns as she stays there for a few more seconds before slowly standing up, feeling unsteady. Reaching in the dark for her toothbrush, she brushes her teeth in the darkness as she waits for her heartbeat to go back to normal. It doesn’t, not really. Her feet don’t move towards the door either. Giving up without much of a fight, she slides down to the floor with her back against the door, all vestiges of sleep gone.
This nightmare was a new one. Dilara is prone to them in general, especially when she’s stressed. More often than not, they’re related to whatever she’s stressed about: a bad chemistry exam, getting rejected by Red Bull, crashing out and getting buried under the wreckage of her car. After the conversation she'd had with Kaya yesterday where the older girl had revealed how Namjoon was doing in the military, Dilara's thoughts had started wandering. That, coupled with what she'd overheard at the Red Bull office later in the day ("They're at war - it's nuclear now.") makes it clear what caused tonight's horrifying dream.
Of course, the "war" was figurative, referring to a Red Bull and Mercedes battle at a critical point of the season. But the direction her thoughts had gone in by default are more telling than the nightmare before she remembers that if North Korea had truly gone back on their ceasefire, it would be international news being broadcasted in every corner of the world.
Right now, she feels suffocated. She places her palms on the cold floor, trying to focus on the feel of the tile and cool her sweaty hands as she thinks of the only person in the world who can make her feel better, and her heart clenches. Kaya is lucky, she thinks, so lucky that she can contact her boyfriend whenever she wants and at least expect a response as soon as possible. Namjoon loves her, adores her, cherishes her; so much so that even halfway across the world from his girlfriend, stashed in the barracks of wherever he’s stationed, he would do everything in his power to reassure her of that fact, and that he’s safe.
Dilara herself could expect no such thing from Taehyung, though, especially since it’s now nearly two months since they last had any contact whatsoever. She tries not to think about that; it hurts too much. There were multiple messages she'd begun drafting, each a variation of the few things she desperately wanted to say. Are you okay? What's happening with you? Do you think about me at all?
But none of these are questions he wants to hear, much less answer. His monosyllabic responses, abrupt goodbyes and deliberate omission of his visit to Seoul had been enough to give her an idea of how he was dealing with their break-up and the last thing she wants to do is reopen old wounds at a time when fixing them would be near impossible.
Dilara drops her head on her knees, shoulders shaking with emotion. It isn’t the first time they’ve been apart. Being separated from him in another timezone was an unfortunate reality of a long distance relationship, common enough that she'd slowly and agonizingly gotten somewhat used to it. It was never ideal, but she could picture him at least: warming up in the dance studio, peering into the pot as his ramen cooked, swaying to an old Dave Brubeck number as he stepped out of the shower, hair wet and droplets glistening on his shoulders and back.
Now, there is nothing. He can’t share pictures, there are none online, and she hasn’t the faintest idea what South Korean military barracks even look like. She doesn’t know what he does on a daily basis, what branch he’s serving in, what he wears, what he eats, what his hair looks like, whether he's put on or lost weight, or how often he shaves his stubble. Everything is left to the imagination… and her imagination is a dangerous place to be in.
A sound interrupts her thoughts and she gasps, her heart jolting dangerously. Her first thought is gunshot, before it happens again, slightly louder this time but clearer. Someone is knocking on the door.
"Dilara?" A pause. "You okay, babe?"
Despite the genuine concern and sleepy affection in his voice, she cringes. It’s not the voice she wants to hear; in fact, for a few minutes there, she'd forgotten about him altogether. Kim Taehyung was taking up every thought, especially during the defenseless hours of sleep, and the image of him bloodied and broken was too much to bear. Swallowing a dry sob, she answers her boyfriend.
"Yeah." A breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. Be out in a minute."
Dilara can still hear him out there. She pictures him with difficulty; a frown under his black hair, grown long over the last few weeks, one hand in the pocket of his shorts, an old blue t-shirt. No, brown. She can’t remember. Eventually she hears his footsteps retreat softly and she exhales shakily.
She can’t stay here forever. There’s comfort in it, no doubt, but it’s lingering, fleeting. She climbs to her feet, swaying for a moment, before quietly turning the doorknob and silently treading back to her bed. Feeling for the curtains in the darkness, she slides them open halfway, letting the dim, silvery moonlight fall into the bedroom as she shuffles underneath her covers and curls onto her side.
From behind her, an arm appears to pull her close, a few of the tattoos around his wrist coming into focus in the light. Dilara hesitates, for it feels uncomfortably heavy, but then reaches up to hold his hand loosely, hoping it will ground her to reality.
He shifts slightly. “Everything okay?” he mumbles.
“Mhm.” She nods, parts of the dream already fading from memory. But not all. Never all.
“Jet lagged?” he asks, his voice a bit clearer this time. “Or ready to hit the gym already?”
That makes her chuckle half-heartedly. “Not for a couple hours at least.”
“Good.” He sighs and settles in more comfortably. “Night, Dilara.”
“Night, James.”
—
Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)
The one where the three oldest members of the group find themselves in deep shit
Summary: Namjoon returns to see everyone in a crisis. Seokjin has a conversation with his girlfriend, while Hoseok wonders if he's going to lose his best friend. Meanwhile, Yoongi ruminates on an impulsive decision.
Pairing: OT3 x OC (different OCs)
Genre: Humour, fluff, angst
Word count: 11.2 K
Rating: 18+
Warnings: language
A/N: It's been forever since I posted and I bring you... *an aftermath fic*!! Takes place the morning after A Stormy Night.
Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @faearchives @margopinkerton @purpleseoul7 @confessionsofamarshlily @jiminjhang @xjoonchildx @tarahardcore @infinitehobi @handfullofcandids @whoisbts @jihopesjoint @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)
When Hoseok wakes up the next morning, it’s to slivers of sunlight through a soft mesh sort of thing on his face. He blinks and shifts slightly; it’s Chaeyoung’s hair, where his face was buried, and he squints towards the window where an apologetic looking sun has reared its head in the sky after a night of torrential rain.
He relaxes slightly; next to him, Chaeyoung hasn’t moved, her shoulders rising and falling peacefully with every breath she takes. His phone buzzes and he turns to reach for it.
Taehyung [08:45]
Anyone need a ride to HQ?
I’m leaving in a bit
Although no one apart from Jungkookie seems to be in the dorm right now
Namjoon [08:48]
I’ll reach on my own. I just got off a flight so I came to my apartment to take a shower.
Seokjin [09:00]
I’ll reach on my own too.
Taehyung [09:01]
Okay. Where were you last night?
Seokjin [09:01]
Never you mind. I have my car.
Yoongi [09:02]
Me too.
Hoseok stares at the screen, slowly licking his lips.
Hoseok [09:03]
Me too.
Taehyung [09:04]
This is not suspicious at all.
Jimin [09:04]
I’m at my place with Sooah :D:D:D I’ll be there soon - but everybody don’t forget to be at the restaurant for her birthday lunch! No latecomers!
Taehyung [09:05]
I take it your night turned out well after all?
Jimin [09:05]
Yessss it did, god bless. I have the best girlfriend in the world - but I’ll tell you about it later.
I mean it though - don’t be late for the lunch. Hobi hyung - you can bring Chaeyoung.
Hoseok stomach jolts.
Hoseok [09:06]
That’s super random. She’s totally capable of coming on her own, you know? She’s not a kid anymore and I’m not responsible for her anyway.
Jimin [09:08]
Errrr I meant because the roads are still a bit flooded so she may not want to walk to the bus stop. But I guess she can come on her own too.
Jungkook [09:09]
I can pick her up on my way to the restaurant if you want, hyung.
Taehyung [09:09]
You’re alive??? I knocked on your door at least twice last night but I heard nothing. I thought you died in there or something.
Jungkook [09:10]
Oh yeah. I was really tired.
Taehyung [09:10]
Lol, I’m sure.
Jungkook [09:10]
@Namjoon How was your trip hyung?
Namjoon [09:11]
Amazing
Didn’t want to come back tbh
Jimin [09:11]
That feels great to hear
But I have a girlfriend now so I get it
Jungkook [09:12]
Gross
Jimin [09:12]
Don’t be bitter just because you’re single
Yoongi [09:13]
Yeah go get laid instead
Taehyung [09:13]
I still don’t know where half of you are though. How was everyone out last night despite that horrendous storm?
Namjoon [09:14]
Yoongi hyung corrupting the children since 2013
Yoongi [09:14]
Me? I think Hobi is doing enough of that for all of us
Hoseok [19:15]
What!
Of course not.
Why even would you say that?
What are you talking about
Yoongi [09:16]
Sorry, I meant Seokjin
Seokjin [09:16]
Errrrrrrr
Taehyung [09:16]
I mean, is it me? Am I the lame one for having stayed home last night?
Yoongi [09:17]
You were on your way to HQ last night, weren’t you?
Taehyung [09:17]
No?
Yoongi [09:17]
Not you
Namjoon [09:18]
Did I leave my charger at the dorm?
Taehyung [09:18]
No idea
Speaking of which, you owe me a lock for my door
Namjoon [09:19]
Excuse me?
Jungkook [09:19]
Taehyung
Yoongi [09:20]
Yeah and you need to return my aux cable. It’s still in your car. I couldn’t charge my phone last night and had to fight Miso to borrow hers
Hoseok [09:20]
Wait you were with Miso last night?
Seokjin [09:21]
@Namjoon I called you to check about the company HQ sleeping quarters too but you didn’t answer
Jimin [09:21]
Oh yeah, Namjoon hyung - you weren’t here to give me a pep talk when my night for Sooah was going up in flames either. I had to call Taehyungie and Jungkook instead and they were no help at all!
Jungkook [09:22]
Hey!
Taehyung [09:22]
Hey!
Namjoon [09:22]
One ridiculous problem at a time, please!
Hoseok frowns, already losing interest. He navigates away from the chat and scrolls through his messages, answering some and ignoring others, his eyes now somewhat getting used to the light of the screen. Just as he’s about to close the app, another message pops up.
Chanyeol [09:15]
Up?
Hoseok [09:15]
Just about
Chanyeol [09:16]
Kk. Listen, are you going home anytime soon?
Hoseok [09:17]
To Gwangju? Not part of the plan right now, no. Maybe Christmas?
Why?
Chanyeol [09:17]
We were planning when to go next. Hayoung’s parents are probably travelling end of the year so we’re trying to plan a trip when everyone we want to meet will be there at the same time.
Hoseok [09:18]
And I’m part of that list? Chan, you honour me
Chanyeol [09:18]
You’d think you wouldn’t be after 20 years of being friends but hey
Hoseok [09:18]
You know Seoul is like a train ride away right? Why do you want to wait to hang out in Gwangju?
Chanyeol [09:19]
Home and stuff
Hoseok [09:19]
Hella senti, I have to say
Chanyeol [09:19]
There’s the added bonus of Hayoung and I having to stay with our respective parents when we go home though
Hoseok [09:20]
That’s what I’m saying! Come to Seoul
Chanyeol [09:21]
I will… I just have to do a Gwangju trip soon. Hopefully when you’re there too
Hoseok [09:21]
Why?
Chanyeol [09:22]
Okay don’t say a word to ANYONE
But I kinda want to ask Hayoung to move in
Chanyeol [09:23]
Hoseok?
Chanyeol [09:24]
Dude you’re freaking me out. Is that a terrible idea?
Hoseok [09:25]
Nope
Just recovering from MY MIND BEING BLOWN
My boy’s growing up!!!
Chanyeol [09:25]
Jesus
You scared the shit out of me for a couple minutes there
Hoseok [09:26]
I’m gonna dance my ass off at your wedding
Chanyeol [09:26]
Whoaaa. Slow down there pop star
Chanyeol [09:27]
Anyway, that’s why I want to go back. I want to do this thing where she’s at her parents’ house and I’m at mine and then I bring up all these rules that we used to have at home when we were kids and then just casually wonder what it would be like if we could make our own rules - in our own home.
Hoseok [09:28]
Adorable
Just adorable
Still waiting for how my Gwangju plans fit into this though
Chanyeol [09:29]
Are you kidding? I need you there for moral support!
Hoseok [09:29]
So, like… hiding outside in the bushes while you’re talking to Hayoung?
Chanyeol [09:30]
No, that would be creepy. But this might be the second most important question I ever ask in my life so I need you there. In town. In the vicinity. So I can plan and maybe make some kind of a grand gesture?
Unless it’s stupid
Hoseok [09:30]
No!
Of course I’ll be there. Just let me know when
Chanyeol [09:31]
I will. In any case, it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to go back until at least January so that gives me some time to prep.
Chanyeol [09:32]
Thanks though. You’re a good friend. The best actually.
Hoseok stares at the screen, the smile on his face fading. The faint flowery perfume and the scent of skin on skin suddenly seems stronger. Something shifts next to him and he turns on his back with dread, faced with the sleeping form of his best friend’s half-naked younger sister.
—
“Everything okay?”
Seokjin looks up, instinctively locking his phone as Nari walks into the living room, stopping just shy of the edge of the carpet.
“Yeah. Just… the usual.” He shrugs, placing his phone next to him. He bites his lip, suddenly at a loss for words. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Mhm.” She nods, running her fingers through the top of her hair and letting it fall down one shoulder. “You? Was the sofa comfortable?”
“Oh. Yeah, totally.” He tries to suppress the urge to stretch his back. “How about you? Oh -“ He clears his throat when she frowns slightly. “Right. We just did you.”
Nari nods again, this time slower. “Listen, Seokjin, about last night -“
“Nari, about what happened -“
They pause at the same time and Seokjin feels his ears turn red, the same time as she chuckles awkwardly and looks away.
“You go,” offers Seokjin, regretting it almost immediately.
“No, no, please, you can go first.”
“No, I insist -“
Nari stares for a few seconds, looking hesitant. “I just wanted to say… don’t worry about it. We can just forget it.”
Seokjin processes this, his pulse slightly uneven. “Okay,” he says lightly. “Thanks for, uh… letting me sleep over.”
“I think I kind of forced you,” she reminds him. “I couldn’t quite have your hypothermia on my hands. They’d take away my medical license if I let you go back out in that rain. Oh, and take your time returning the clothes,” she adds suddenly. “Although I think that sweatshirt is yours, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Um -“ He looks down at the faded blue sweatshirt and grey joggers she’d lent him last night. “Oh, yeah. I stopped looking for this, like, three years ago. I thought I left it in some hotel in America.”
“Well, it would’ve been on eBay selling for a million dollars if that were the case,” she says teasingly.
Seokjin cracks a smile. Unlike last night when, for a glorious portion of an hour, things had felt almost normal, he feels more uncomfortable than ever. Part of him feels like screaming into a pillow, for it’s occurring to him now what a terrible position he’s put himself and Nari in, not to mention Seulgi, stranded in Big Hit.
“Oh.” The word escapes his lips before he realises. He scrambles off the sofa, running a hand through his messy hair. “I have to go… I need to pick up -“ He looks up at Nari.
“Yeah, no. That’s fine.” She nods. “I hope you don’t feel weird about last night, though.”
“I don’t.” He pauses. “I don’t feel weird about it,” he says clearly, but this isn’t the time to have this discussion. Not while his girlfriend is elsewhere, not until he’s done the right thing by her.
Nari looks like she’s about to say something but shakes her head at the last moment. “That’s good. I guess I’ll see you around?”
Seokjin observes her, bare face and slightly puffy eyes. She's biting her lip - he’d kissed those lips last night, he remembers and waits for his face to get hot again.
But it doesn’t. He nods. “Yeah. See you around, Nari.” He trudges out, squinting slightly at the sun and needing a coffee so, so badly.
“Seokjin.” She’s standing at the door when he turns and her eyes twinkle slightly in a way that makes his stomach leap hopefully. “Thanks for coming last night, though.”
It takes him a moment. “Of course. Happy half-birthday, Nari.”
The roads are unforgiving. Despite a lot of the water having been drained, the streets are still flowing with ankle deep water, leaves and debris strewn around everywhere, and entire roads blocked for repairs.
Seokjin reaches Big Hit almost thirty minutes later than he’d intended. Just as he’s about to drive into the basement parking, he spots Seulgi walking out of the front doors, one hand on the strap of her bag and the other holding her phone.
He immediately pulls into the front of the building and skids to a stop, accidentally splashing water from a puddle on her ankles.
“What the -“
“Sorry!” he exclaims apologetically, turning off the car and stepping out.
“Seokjin?” Her shoulders relax when she notices him - but she doesn’t smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, the roads are crap. Figured you might need a ride home?” he ventures.
“Oh.” She seems hesitant. Even after spending a whole night at the company sleeping quarters, she looks like she’s stepped out a shower and spent thirty minutes getting ready; there isn’t a hair out of place or a single crease in her clothing. Dressed in an ancient sweatshirt - and what he suddenly remembers with a shock are Nari’s joggers - he feels like a complete slob.
“Unless… you don’t want one.”
Seulgi stares at him. For a second, he thinks she might throw her phone at his face. But a moment later she shrugs.
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
It’s formal and slightly awkward, but Seokjin takes it as a good sign when she opens the passenger door and gets in. He drives mostly in silence; he isn’t sure what to say to her and figures he at least owes her a ride to her doorstep before they have this discussion.
This route is shorter, fortunately, and fifteen minutes later when he pulls up in front of her building, he takes a deep breath. Before he can get a word out, though, she speaks.
“We’re done, Seokjin.”
His heart jolts harder than he expected it would. “What?”
She continues looking out of the windshield, but her voice is calm yet steely. “I spent more time yesterday worrying about our relationship than on my presentation. And that’s not me. Neither is getting in the middle of a situation as messy as yours and Nari’s, but -“ She scoffs without humour.
Seokjin isn’t sure what hurts more: the fact that he wasn’t expecting this right now, or the fact that he can’t help but agree with her.
“Seulgi… I know I haven’t been a good partner lately. I know that and you deserve -“
“Don’t tell me what I deserve. Please,” she says, still calm, but this time he thinks he can hear her voice tremble slightly. “I think you tried. Trying to call me the last few weeks, checking up on me last night, picking me up right now… you’ve been raised to be a decent guy.” She shakes her head and looks out her window. “But it really loses its charm when there’s another woman in the picture.”
Shame trickles down Seokjin’s spine but he forces himself to listen to her and absorb every single word. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I felt for Nari - and I still don’t, but I never meant to -“
“Really? Is that why you’re wearing a pair of pants with her name printed on them?”
His heart stops.
“What?”
Seulgi scoffs again, but it’s followed by the smallest of sniffs. “God, I was such an idiot.”
Seokjin looks down at the joggers, frowning deeply and scanning his leg to see what Seulgi might have until he spots it: right by the edge of the pocket, in faded Hangul… Choi Nari.
“No. No, no, this - no. No.” Seokjin shakes his head vigorously, for she's got it all wrong. But for some reason, his mouth seems incapable of saying anything other than no, no, no.
“Spare me. You're literally in her pants,” she says icily. “God - I'm that girl. The one who started dating a guy with a girl best friend that stopped being just a friend somewhere along the way. Talk about a B-grade k-drama.” She begins gathering her bag and unstrapping her seatbelt.
“Seulgi,” he says hurriedly, “I did not - I swear to you, it's nothing like you're imagining.”
She turns to him and tilts her head, but her eyes are shuttered - apart from being wet. “Really? You weren't with her last night?”
“No! I mean, I was at her house but I wasn't with -”
“Goodbye, Seokjin,” she interrupts him, opening the car door and climbing out. “Thanks for the ride,” she mutters, just before slamming the door shut and walking away.
Seokjin watches her leave in shock. His heart is beating uncomfortably and he feels sick in his stomach, for as much of a right Seulgi had to do this and as much as he even expected her to, hurting her this way was not something he had ever intended.
He isn’t sure how long he sits out there; it isn’t until his phone rings that he’s jerked out of his trance.
“Hello?” He clears his throat and presses his fingers into his eyes, feeling them get wet as he lowers them.
“Seokjin hyung?” There’s a minor commotion in the back. “The meeting has been pushed back by half an hour.”
It’s Jungkook. Seokjin nods, the meeting seeming like a distant problem right now. “Okay.”
“Yeah, meaning we can probably grab breakfast before it. Do you want the staff to order something for you?”
As if on cue, his stomach churns at the thought of food. “Uh, no.”
“No?”
“Yeah. I’m not hungry.” Before Jungkook can argue further, Seokjin continues. “I have to go. I’ll be there soon.”
Hanging up, he finally pulls out from in front of Seulgi’s building, beginning his drive back home.
—
Sooah’s birthday lunch has been organised in a fancy, chic restaurant in central Seoul, on the top floor with added security and an exclusive invitation list. The sun is mild and there’s a gentle breeze in the air, making the balcony area a popular spot for many of the guests to enjoy the newly improved weather with cocktails and appetizers being served by well-dressed waiters.
Hoseok provides his name at the entrance and enters the party, hoping furtively that the group of girls just outside the building haven't spotted his face. He looks around; evidently, the birthday girl hasn't arrived yet. He declines a passing waiter's offer of a prawn tempura and makes a beeline for the first member he sees.
“Hey, hyung,” he says, slightly breathless as he reaches Yoongi. The older member had ended up bringing Jungkook, Namjoon and Taehyung from the company HQ, especially after the latter two had decided they wanted to drink freely at the party and not drive after that, leaving their cars still parked in the company basement.
Now, Yoongi, who’s been quiet all morning and is holding a glass of what looks like gin, nods in acknowledgement even though his gaze is fixed somewhere on the ground.
However, Hoseok can't begin to wonder what his problem is right now. “Okay, look,” he begins, looking around to make sure there's no one around. “I did something horrible. Well, no, not horrible,” he amends quickly. “It wasn't at all - okay, here's what it is, alright?” He swallows and takes a deep breath. “I hooked up with Chaeyoung,” he confesses in a single breath.
Yoongi, who'd been listening with his gaze still burning into the ground, finally looks at him. “Wow,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Really? Isn't she, like, fifteen or something?”
“What? No!” Hoseok cries. “She's twenty-three! She's an adult - she’s as old as Jungkook! Well, slightly younger,” he admits.
“How much younger?”
“… eighteen months.”
Yoongi nods, then frowns. “Okay, well… it’s not that bad then. She’s old enough.”
“Yeah, but she’s -“ My childhood neighbour, a family friend, and Chanyeol’s baby sister. “… Chaeyoung,” he finishes uneasily. “Her brother is going to kill me,” he groans, dropping his face into his hands.
“Really? Why?” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s her life, right?”
“I mean, sure. But Chan is really protective of her, especially after their mother passed.” Hoseok doesn’t know how exactly to word it to someone who hasn't been there through it all, watching Chanyeol constantly keep an eye on the most important person in his life. Until she moved to Seoul and he asked me to take over.
“So?” Yoongi shrugs, then takes a sip of his drink. “It's her life,” she repeats. “He can't look out for her forever.”
Hoseok exhales, sensing that Yoongi isn't quite getting the point. “Okay, just imagine that I hooked up with your younger sister.”
Yoongi grimaces slightly. “Okay?”
“And imagine that I was your best friend, that we grew up together and I saw her grow up and I was… kind of a douche to her back then,” he mutters. “But then everyone grows up and suddenly I’m in the same city as her, you trusted me to look out for her - and instead I ended up in bed with her,” he finishes with a flourish. “What would you do?”
Yoongi squints, clearly trying to process this. “I… I don’t know, that’s a lot to keep track of. And you know what, I don’t have sisters so I really - I mean, I’m not the best person to ask. But you know who is?” he adds quickly, gesturing with his chin at something behind Hoseok.
Hoseok turns to see Namjoon finishing up a conversation with someone, clinking his glass with theirs cheerfully before they part ways.
“He’s your best friend, you kind of grew up together and he has a younger sister.” Yoongi counts them off one by one. “One he’s fairly protective of.”
“Is he?” Hoseok frowns. “Protective of his sister? Like he is with Kaya?”
“Well, it’s not the same situation but he’s protective by nature. And you’re just getting an opinion, not recreating it to the T,” Yoongi reminds him, nudging his shoulder. “He’s your guy.”
Hoseok considers this and nods, making his way over to Namjoon. Namjoon notices him approaching and smiles, which Hoseok returns with a slightly confused one of his own.
“Hoba!” Namjoon exclaims, clapping him on the back and almost knocking the wind out of him. “How’ve you been? Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh, uh… no, thanks.” Hoseok shakes his head but agrees to a wonton on the spread in front of them. Chewing, he observes Namjoon, who looks far happier than he can remember seeing him in recent times. It’s not unexpected, given how long he and Kaya spent apart.
Suddenly deciding he doesn’t want to think about why Namjoon looks so happy, he hurries to speak.
“So, uh… say I hooked up with your sister,” he begins quickly, only for Namjoon’s smile to disappear in an instant.
“You… what?” he exclaims, and his height suddenly seems looming.
Hoseok frowns before rolling his eyes. “Say,” he repeats, “that I hooked up with your sister.”
“Oh. Why?” When Hoseok doesn’t answer immediately, Namjoon raises his eyebrows. “Dude, did you sleep with someone’s sister?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Hoseok takes a step back and raises his hands. “I did not sleep with her. We didn’t have sex - like, it was so not like that. Because sex is… we didn’t… I mean, no sex was had,” he finishes, his throat feeling dry.
“So I take it you didn’t have sex?”
“No, we didn’t.” But I may as well have, he thinks, flashes of last night surfacing in his mind. Her hair, her skin, her voice like he’d never heard it before… Hoseok sighs. “I went over to Chaeyoung’s last night and we… fooled around,” he confesses, hoping he won’t be asked to elaborate.
Namjoon is far too sensible to do that, fortunately. “Right. And… that’s a bad thing,” he states, as though waiting for Hoseok to confirm it.
He opens his mouth, knowing what he should say. “No,” he admits after a moment. “That’s the worst part, that nothing about it was bad at all.” He shakes his head even as his chest feels lighter for the first time all day. “It was incredible. And not just the - the hooking up, but being with her, laughing and talking… God, we talked all night,” he remembers, his eyes dropping to the floor.
Namjoon raises his eyebrows again, this time looking somewhat impressed. “Sounds like the dream,” he remarks deliberately.
“Yeah?”
“Totally. And clearly you know that because you’re getting that same little smile the thought of it,” he points out. “The one you guys used to tease me about?”
Hoseok immediately straightens his face, not even realising he’d been smiling. “Shut up.”
Namjoon shrugs serenely, finishing his drink and helping himself to a second. “You’re worried about her brother, though,” he guesses.
“More than worried.” He shakes his head and drops his face into his hands. “He’s going to think I totally betrayed him.”
“Did you, though?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” he says urgently. “If I hooked up with your sister - your younger sister - while I’m your friend… what would you do?”
Namjoon frowns uncertainly, apparently thinking about it, then exhales. “I wouldn’t be thrilled,” he admits. “It would feel a little like you were going behind my back? Especially since… well, it’s my sister.” He winces, apparently realising he’s not doing a very good job at explaining this. “No guy ever wants to think about his little sister doing that, least of all with one of his friends.”
“That’s perfect,” mutters Hoseok.
“No, but you know - it’s a little different in Chanyeol’s case,” muses Namjoon, now leaning backwards against the table and pointing at the air, as though it’s an interesting problem he’s solving on an invisible whiteboard. “You actually grew up with him.”
“Isn’t that worse? Because not only did I grow up with him, I grew up with her. And Chan is…” He exhales tiredly. “She won’t believe me, but he’s always been extremely protective of her. Especially since their mom died. Emotionally, physically… I know him - there’s nothing in this world he would prioritise over his sister.”
Namjoon is quiet for a moment. “Is it because their mom died?”
“I don’t know. Probably,” he admits. “He was kind of like the golden child when they were young and she was always a little left out and overlooked… he never admitted it but I know he felt guilty about it. He always tried to make up for it and look after her more - even now, when she moved to Seoul.”
“Well, I can see that,” says Namjoon reasonably. “It’s difficult to see your younger sibling as anything other than a kid, especially when they’re that much younger. You thought of her as a kid, too, if I remember correctly,” he reminds him, irritatingly logical.
“But she’s not a kid anymore,” argues Hoseok. “I did think that at first but… she’s really not. She’s smart and insightful and - and she’s focused on her career. And she’s pragmatic - you know last night during the storm, she had hot water and instant ramen stocked up in case the power went out?” His eyes widen and he shrugs hugely. “Six of us in the dorm and not one of us thought to stock up on food. If I’m not wrong, Jungkook ate a bowl of cold kimchi for dinner while Taehyung ate half a block of cheese. And that was with the power on!”
Namjoon grimaces. “What was happening while I was gone?”
“And she made brownies!” Hoseok exclaims, ignoring his friend. “And they were good. And she was crocheting - she…” He takes a deep breath. “She gave me a crocheted bear,” he tells Namjoon in a low voice. “And I don’t know if she put some kind of spell on it, but for some reason, it won’t leave my pocket.”
Namjoon raises his eyebrows but Hoseok can’t seem to stop talking - not now that he’s finally saying out loud things that have been swimming in his brain for months.
“She’s cute and she’s funny - and she’s got this killer confidence. Where did that even come from?” he demands. “She used to be all shy and awkward before but now she’s… oh, and she’s started giving advice now? Good advice, incidentally, and I just want to… I just want to talk to her all the time because sometimes it really feels like she can solve every single one of my problems. And honestly, after last night…” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, glancing at Namjoon’s expression and hating it, “Namjoon, believe me… she’s a grown woman.”
There’s a few seconds of silence where Hoseok fights the urge to yell incomprehensibly into the abyss.
“So… I know you guys don’t really like it when I do this,” begins Namjoon slowly, “but if I understand it correctly, your problem isn’t so much that you slept with Chaeyoung -“
“I didn’t sleep with -“
“- it’s that you’re falling in love with Chaeyoung,” he finishes, nodding as though explaining a rather simple maths problem without wanting to hurt his feelings.
“I’m - I’m not,” murmurs Hoseok, even as his heart sinks for more often than not, Namjoon is right.
“But that changes things,” says Namjoon. “If you actually had feelings for my sister - real feelings, and I was convinced that you weren’t just messing around with her… I would actually be kind of okay with it. It would be weird,” he admits, shuddering a little, “but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. I’m sure it would be the same with Chanyeol. No?”
Hoseok shakes his head. It isn’t as if the thought hasn’t occurred to him, but if there’s one person who knows Chanyeol, it’s him.
“You know, it might? Except, when we were growing up, I was a dick to Chaeyoung,” he admits in a low voice, the shame and guilt bubbling deep in his stomach. “He was protecting her from his parents and his step-mom and other kids… but he was also protecting her from me.”
He doesn’t say it out loud - he can’t, because it’s too shameful, that the one and only time that Chanyeol ever snapped at him, the only time Hoseok ever felt that he could lose his best friend was when he’d warned him to stop making fun of his little sister.
It had been when they were in high school. Hoseok had taken it way down after that, choosing only to tease her in a more playful way or ignore her altogether, usually when Chanyeol wasn’t around. But it was undeniable that even though they’d moved past it, Hoseok had crossed a line.
Until now.
“I’m the last person Chanyeol will be okay with, being with his sister,” he states, knowing it’s true.
Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Look, Hobi… that was years ago. You were a kid.” He seems to spot something behind Hoseok’s shoulder. “What’s more important is how she feels about your past.”
Hoseok is about to open his mouth when his phone pings at the same time as Namjoon’s. Similar pings are heard throughout the room and when he checks his phone, it’s to see a message on a group chat.
Jimin [13:04]
We’re on our way up. Everyone get ready!
As promised, less than a minute later, they hear the lift open and Jimin’s voice sing-song as he speaks. A moment later, he appears at the doorway with Sooah, his face breaking into a cherubic smile as he gestures to the room with a flourish.
“Surprise!”
All the guests chorus together and Sooah, after gasping and seemingly suffering a mild heart attack, begins greeting people who come forward to hug her. Hoseok and Namjoon hang back, allowing her school friends to greet her first, including Taehyung, while Jimin stands beside her proudly, evidently satisfied with her reaction. It’s then that Hoseok sees her.
“Oh, my God, she’s here,” he breathes, instantly turning away but unable to do so for long. He chances a glance at her as he half-hides behind Namjoon’s broad frame; in an oversized striped pink sweater, a short denim skirt, sheer pink stockings and black combat boots, she looks like an ice cream - a cute, pink, irresistible ice cream with slightly flushed cheeks and long wavy hair. Bubblegum punk, he’d said to her once and here she is, clearly embracing it.
“Okay, the worst thing you can do is be dramatic about this,” warns Namjoon. “Just go and talk to her like everything’s - wait,” he says suddenly. “What did you say to her this morning?”
“Oh. Well, I didn’t want to wake her up, so -”
Namjoon turns around with his eyebrows high on his forehead. “You snuck out?” he whispers loudly.
“No! I mean, technically - but I needed to leave for that meeting and my phone was dead so I couldn’t text her. And I didn’t want to wake her up,” he adds defensively, anticipating the question. “Don’t worry, I left her a note.”
“A note?”
“Yeah, and it was a nice note,” he says shortly. “Whatever I do, I’m not going to screw her over like that.”
They go over to greet the birthday girl after that, once the crowd thins out. Hoseok catches Chaeyoung’s eye for the briefest of moments, feeling his heart skip an enormous beat. But she moves away and he follows her slender figure going to place her present on the gift table.
“... thought it was going to be just a small lunch, you and me. You didn’t have to go through all this…”
“I wanted to give you a surprise… don’t you like it?”
“Oh, of course I do, Chim…”
Sooah leans up to press a kiss to Jimin’s cheek, who looks mollified when he spots them, followed by Sooah. “Hey, guys,” she says, leaning up to hug them in turn as they chorus their own happy birthdays to her. “Thank you for coming, I know how busy you all are.”
“Where’s Seokjin hyung?” Jimin asks, scanning the room.
“He said he wasn’t feeling up to it. He says sorry,” adds Hoseok apologetically, while Sooah waves a hand. “He did look quite off even during the meeting this morning.”
Jimin murmurs something noncommittal but shrugs, evidently deciding to let it go when Taehyung and Jungkook join them as well, deep in discussion that abruptly stops when they come into earshot.
“Namjoon oppa, Jimin told me you just got back from New Zealand,” says Sooah. “How was it?”
“Oh, yeah, you never told us,” adds Jungkook. “Did you do the ziplining thing this time?” he asks excitedly
Namjoon takes a sip of his drink and shakes his head. “No, no, we didn’t,” he answers, chuckling.
“Oh. Well, you must have gone to Milford Sound - he was obsessed with that place the last time we were there,” remembers Hoseok. “Remember? You wanted to stay there longer but the staff made us leave. That’s the kind of place Kaya would like, too.”
“Oh, yeah. It was really nice - but I don’t know, we never really got around to doing that,” he admits.
“Okay.” Jungkook frowns. “What about that Lord of the Rings hike? That’s right up your alley.”
“Er… no. Didn’t end up doing that either.”
Hoseok frowns. “So what did you do for three weeks?”
There’s a few moments where no one speaks and Namjoon doesn’t answer, opting instead to take a long, slow sip of wine and ending it with a soft smack of his lips, all the while when Hoseok finds himself slowly regretting his question.
“Oh. Oh, God.” He swallows before groaning. Jungkook’s ears go red while Sooah and Jimin snort, and Taehyung claps him on the shoulder as they all disperse, clicking his tongue and winking at him.
“Don’t prolong it,” murmurs Namjoon to Hoseok before he leaves, his eyes clearly on Chaeyoung. “Just be normal with her.”
“Right. Normal.” It’s easier said than done, for Hoseok discovers that he’s barely able to look at Chaeyoung without thinking about last night. His feelings for her were tending towards a problematic region long before this, but something had changed irreversibly last night. There was no scope for denial anymore, he realises, not about his attraction to her or deeper emotions that make his stomach flip.
Worst of all, it’s the looming thought of Chanyeol following him every time she enters his mind. He would lose Chanyeol over this, he knows it. Hoseok didn’t think losing Chanyeol would ever even be worthy of consideration in his mind - until Chaeyoung, looking like a cute, pretty, sensitive ice cream.
He drifts towards the table of hors d'oeuvres, trying to force an appetite. Nothing looks appealing, though, not now, but he scans it anyway hopefully. Someone else arrives at the table, and he smells her before he sees her.
“Hi,” says Chaeyoung, giving him a small smile and picking up a small chocolate at the edge of the table.
It’s too much: her summery perfume, her shiny hair, the memory of her naked rib cage underneath his palms while she sighed his name in a way that would make Chanyeol punch him in the face if he knew. He exhales shakily as she takes a step closer to him; even though they aren’t even slightly touching, the proximity makes his heart race and to his horror, he can feel his jeans tighten.
“What are you doing?” he asks in a low voice, dropping all pretense and turning to her.
She raises her eyebrows. “I’m saying hi,” she answers, not sounding even a fraction as frazzled as he feels. She does look… happy to see him, though. The thought makes his heart leap and hurt at the same time.
“Listen, Chae,” he begins, because he just can’t do this. She nods, looking casual and breezy, her cheeks with a hint of pink still on them.
“Yeah?”
“Look, last night was… amazing,” he admits, noting how, despite the casual demeanour she’s displaying, a smile begins creeping up on her face as well. Her lips are pink, too, and glossy… “It was amazing and - and you’re amazing.” Her smile widens slightly and her cheeks flush a little brighter and Hoseok feels his strength start to leave him bit by bit. “But it can’t happen again. No matter how I feel… Chanyeol is still my best friend and you’re still his sister and… you are so off limits.”
Chaeyoung doesn’t seem fazed. Her smile fades slightly but not completely and she licks her lips, as though able to see right through him. “It’s a little late for that, I think,” she says lightly, brushing a lock of hair off her neck.
Be still, my heart. “No, it’s not. I mean, it… yeah. Maybe.” He looks at the floor and exhales deliberately, trying to gather his thoughts. “But it can’t go further. I - I really hope you understand, Chae,” he implores, meeting her eyes, wide and doe-like. “You’re amazing,” he repeats, meaning it, “but…”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, then nods. “Okay.” Giving him that same small, nonchalant smile, she pops the piece of chocolate in her mouth and walks away.
—
Seokjin wakes up from the worst sleep he’s encountered in a while - and that includes the tour they’ve just wrapped up.
It had taken him a long time to fall asleep. Once he’d finally managed to somewhat numb himself to the fact that he’d just been dumped because his girlfriend thought he’d cheated on her, he’d tried to close his eyes and get just a little while of nothingness. But he felt wrung out; he was emotionally so exhausted that it was hard to even sleep, especially because he knew, he knew, that while his break-up with Seulgi was affecting him, it was the fact that he didn't even know how Nari fit into all this.
Well, he knew. He had an idea and he was aware of the general area in which Nari was involved, but all his strength was going into not thinking about that right now because it was a Pandora’s box he didn't want to rifle through at the moment.
Then, of course, the moment he’d tried to catch a few winks, his phone had started buzzing with updates from Sooah's birthday lunch. Jimin hadn't taken it too well when Seokjin had told him after the meeting that he wouldn't be able to make it and while he hadn't been able to bring himself to explain why, something in his expression must have done it for him, for Jimin had abruptly stopped pestering him and told him to stop by if he felt better.
He checks his phone now, realising he's slept through lunch. The late afternoon sun is already dimming, as though warning the city of an early sunset. He sits up on the couch, his back hurting and head pounding and heart racing from the vague dream he'd had of Seulgi imprisoning him in an underground jail while Namjoon appeared as a hologram and read a list of his crimes.
You're a decent guy, but it loses its charm when there's another woman in the picture.
It was like a sick twist of fate, the momentary relief that Seulgi was breaking up with him until it turned to dread when he realised why she was breaking up with him. And the other woman in the picture… Seokjin runs a hand across his face, knowing that it wouldn't have made anything better if he'd try to explain why he was wearing Nari's joggers in the first place.
No, I wasn't sleeping with her - not at all. I went to her place in the storm to wish her a happy half-birthday in line with a decades-old tradition, we splashed around in the rain for a while where an accidental kiss took place, and then she offered me dry clothes and her couch for the night because she's a doctor and she was worried about hypothermia.
It sounds ridiculous - not to mention like a rather trite story. He'd taken off the joggers the moment he'd entered the dorm, throwing on the first pair of trousers he'd found in his room before driving away for his meeting. He'd chucked it in the washing machine after getting back and then the dryer, and in the absence of anything else to do except overthink his ended relationship, Seokjin stalks over to the dryer and retrieves the washed joggers. Without sitting back down, he collects his keys and prepares to drive over to Nari's.
It will be therapeutic, he supposes, to get rid of the immediate cause of his break-up. Plus, he would get the opportunity to apologise to Nari again - for staying over last night, for accidentally kissing her, maybe for showing up at all.
As he nears her building, he slows down. The street is still empty, although the water guns are no longer where they were last night. It’s almost as though the evidence of what transpired has been wiped away clean; Seokjin can’t decide whether that’s supposed to be a good thing.
There’s a good chance she won’t be home right now, he realises. But he still parks the car where he had last night and steps out, folded joggers in hand, looking up at the corridor window that had blown away her notes last night. It’s open and gives him a direct view of her front door.
Just then, as if on cue, the door opens. Seokjin’s stomach leaps without warning - for she’s home - and despite the bad day he’s had so far, a ghost of a smile graces his face.
Nari appears at the door, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Seokjin takes a step forward but halts immediately in his tracks when she breaks into a relieved sort of smile and she opens the door wider - and someone else appears into view.
It’s a man. It’s him - Jason or whoever - who she’d brought to dinner at his place. She’d maintained that they were simply colleagues but either she’d been lying or the situation had changed since then, but Seokjin is motionless as he watches Jason kiss her casually on the cheek as she moves aside to let him in.
Maybe it’s the culmination of an already dismal day or it’s the unexpected nature of this discovery, but nothing that’s happened so far has crushed his chest quite so viscerally. Seokjin almost hopes he’s mistaking someone else for Nari or it’s a friendly, platonic, even brotherly situation - he’s grasping at straws mentally, even as Jason steps inside and the door closes behind him.
—
Near the late afternoon, when the sunlight starts to become sparse, the party starts to wrap up. Guests begin saying goodbye, passing by the table piled high with gifts on their way to the lift, many people happily day drunk and stumbling out.
“Did you know Sooah had this many friends?” Yoongi mutters, sidling up to Hoseok. He looks longingly at the drinks table next to them, now with far more empty bottles than when they'd first arrived.
“I didn't know someone could have this many friends,” he admits, somewhat admiringly. Across the hall, she looks appropriately engaged, swaying to the Justin Bieber track playing on the speaker and talking to two people as she sipped on a cocktail with a straw. A little way away, Jimin, Taehyung and two other guys he'd never seen before were aggressively popping to the song while simultaneously filming each other and guffawing.
“Sounds like a lot of work.” Yoongi sighs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “When do you want to head out? Because I could use a drink.”
“Oh, is that why you've been sober all day?” Hoseok chuckles. “That’s adorable, hyung. You're like the mother hen trying to get her chickens to walk in a straight line before doing anything else.”
“That's me. Do you see the other chickens around? Namjoon and Jungkook are sharing a cigarette on the balcony,” he notes.
“Jimin and Taehyung are over there, although I’m guessing Jimin will be with Sooah. I don't think they're all Sooah's friends,” he says after a moment. “They aren't close friends at least. I think they're mostly old classmates and stuff that she's kind of in touch with. Jimin just goes all out.”
“He told you that?”
“Not exactly,” he mutters, his gaze moving to the one figure he's been glancing at continuously. Chaeyoung is by the appetiser station again, a clear drink in her hand as she fingers the edge of one of the food cards. Her bottom lip is between her teeth and she's frowning.
As he watches, a friend of Sooah's joins her and says something, to which she nods and laughs politely. He responds and she shrugs, a bit uncertainly, before picking up a single French fry and popping it in her mouth.
“Did you talk to her?”
Hoseok doesn't bother beating around the bush and inquiring who Yoongi is referring to. “Kind of. Went better than I anticipated, actually.”
“Really?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “What did you say to her?”
“Told her last night was fun and all but it can't happen again.” Hoseok turns away from her. “She seemed fine with it.”
“You don't sound fine with it.”
“What do you mean? I'm the one who suggested it.”
“You don't sound fine with the fact that she was fine with it.”
Hoseok glares at Yoongi but doesn’t argue. He turns to Chaeyoung again, this time a bit more alert when he notices her grabbing her sling bag, clearly ready to leave. He follows her pink, wavy-haired figure as she floats over to Sooah and presumably wishes her again before giving her a hug.
He frowns as their interaction continues: Chaeyoung asks her something and Sooah responds easily, tilting her head and giggling as she points to Jimin. Chaeyoung’s face falls for a fraction of a second before it’s replaced with a smile and a nod. They hug again and this time, Chaeyoung starts to leave.
As she does, she meets Hoseok’s eyes. His heart stops briefly but she simply gives him a casual wave and a small smile, before stepping into the lift and waiting for the doors to close.
Hoseok swallows, his mind going a mile a minute for the next few seconds. “Hyung,” he says, “you’re taking the rest of the chickens back to HQ?”
“You know it.” Yoongi follows Hoseok’s gaze. “You have your car?”
Hoseok nods before clapping him on the back and dashing off in the same direction as Chaeyoung. He takes the stairs two at a time and spills out into the lobby of the building, head darting around and spotting a telltale pair of pink stockinged legs disappearing around the corner outside the glass doors.
He follows her, jogging a bit until he’s within earshot. He calls her name and she turns, looking surprised but not altogether disappointed at his presence.
“Hey,” she says, as though they’ve coincidentally run into each other on a normal day. Behind her, the sun is far away at the horizon, a bright spot peeking through the clouds as it prepares to set. Right now, though, it’s difficult to pay attention to it.
“Leaving already?” he asks, a little uselessly, but it’s just occurred to him that he has no idea why he followed her out.
“Yeah, I guess. Most people are gone,” she says. “Plus… I don’t really know anybody there apart from Sooah herself. And you,” she adds with a smile when he raises his eyebrows. She doesn’t say anything else but Hoseok suddenly feels guilty, for three hours at a party not knowing anyone can’t be easy.
“You know the other guys, though,” he says after a moment. “Jimin and, uh…”
“Yeah, I was hanging out with Jungkook for a while.” She nods, fingering the strap of her bag. “It’s getting late, though.”
The decent thing to do would be to offer her a ride. He’s on the verge of doing it; now that he’s here in front of her, everything he’d told her earlier today seems vague and blurry and, frankly, unimportant.
“I’m sorry, Chae.”
She frowns. “Oh, don’t be. It wasn’t that bad - like, the food was good and I got a few nice pictures -“
“No, not about that.”
“Oh.” She licks her lips and nods once. “About that… don’t be sorry about that either. I get it - it’s weird. We’re practically family and you and my brother especially are -“
“Nope. Not that either.”
She stares at him blankly. “I’m out of guesses.”
“I'm sorry for…” What’s more important is how she feels about your past. Namjoon, ever the wise one, had touched upon the only element in this mess that could bring Hoseok out of his pit of guilt about Chanyeol: Chaeyoung.
“Yeah?”
He takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry for everything. Everything I did when we were kids, everything I said…” He bites his lip as she processes this, her eyes flickering slightly before they fall to the ground. “I was a huge jerk to you. And I know I was a kid, too, and so were you… but that doesn't mean that it all just disappears when we grow up. I know over the last year we've… gotten closer -”
Her lips twitch and his cheeks grow warm. He hurries his next words.
“- but I still want to say, explicitly, that I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Chae.”
Something massive seems to have been lifted off his chest but a dull pressure still lingers, pulsating in rhythm with his heart beat. Chaeyoung nods again, slowly, and meets his eyes.]]
“Apology accepted,” she says softly.
The pressure recedes; she feels more within reach than ever. It seems unbelievable that not twenty-four hours ago, she'd been on his lap in a state of undress, kissing him while it poured outside, making every other thought in his mind disappear.
“And I'm sorry, too,” she says after a moment, jerking him out of his dangerous train of thought. “I wasn't mean but I was… pretty clingy. Kids get teased mercilessly at that age over a haircut so I'm sure a kid who acted like… well, like me wouldn't have been easy,” she admits, two pink spots appearing on her pale cheeks.
Hoseok wants to kiss her, so desperately. It takes everything in him to stay rooted to the spot, even though there isn't a single part of him that wants to stay away from her. He should, but for the life of him, he can't quite remember why right now.
Chaeyoung exhales, looking slightly awkward but somewhat relieved - or maybe Hoseok is and he's projecting. Either way, she rocks backwards on the heels of her shoes and shrugs. “Well, I'm going to head,” she says abruptly, the pink tinge on her cheeks still visible. “And… thanks.”
“You're walking?”
“Yeah. After the rain last night it's actually kind of nice. And not totally dark yet,” she adds, looking up at the sky.
He should offer her a ride.
“Can I walk you home?” he blurts, pausing internally as he thinks about his car in the parking lot.
She looks surprised, too. “Um, are you sure? Don't you have to get back to the party?”
“Oh, no, the party is almost dead, anyway,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Even Sooah and Jimin seem to be almost done. I'm sure they'll leave in a bit.”
“And to no one's surprise, she's going back to his place.” Chaeyoung shakes her head. “Wow, I've clearly had one too many mojitos.”
Hoseok snickers. “Don't worry about it. With what I think their plans are tonight, you don't want them in the room next to you.”
She wrinkles her nose and then laughs. “True. But you don't have to walk me home. I'm fine.”
“I don't mind. Really.”
“It's, like, a thirty minute walk.”
“Fortunately, I’m kind of good when it comes to stamina.”
Chaeyoung narrows her eyes and folds her arms across her chest. Ice cream, he thinks instantly, and begins to smile without meaning to.
“Why did you apologise?”
“What do you mean?” He shrugs. “It's the right thing to do.”
“Sure, but why today?”
His heart starts to race - or skip, and he simply shrugs. “Seemed like as good a day as any.”
Chaeyoung doesn’t change her stance. “Are you sure?”
The way she asks it, she seems to have caught onto something. It’s too knowing and Hoseok feels his smile getting wider.
“You’re a pain in my ass, caterpillar.”
That makes her laugh - an open, confident laugh and Hoseok’s heart soars.
“Have been, since two thousand four,” she agrees. “Except, obviously, you apologised for all that.”
“You’re going to be a handful.” The words are out of his mouth before he can control them but he finds he doesn’t mind. Chaeyoung’s smile fades slightly and she bites her lip, the sun starting to set behind her.
“You can walk me home,” she says after a moment, turning around but not moving. Hoseok hesitates for the briefest of moments but joins her as she starts walking, their fingers only inches apart.
—
Yoongi drives in silence, while Namjoon, Jungkook and Taehyung sing along to an old song from a TV show. For members of a world famous band, they all sound terrible - but he supposes that is a talent in itself. In the shotgun seat, Jungkook bounces to the song in the passenger seat while Taehyung adds his own ad-libs throughout, but Yoongi has no energy to tell them to stop.
They near the building and he drives into the basement parking, somewhat dreading going up to his studio. He parks and everybody climbs out; Jungkook mumbles something about the gym while Taehyung makes a phone call and they drift away. Namjoon hangs back, waiting for the younger members to leave their earshot before turning to Yoongi.
“Are you alright, hyung?”
“Bitchin’.” He catches Namjoon’s eye and sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine. Had a rough night, that’s all.”
“Because of the rain?”
That, too. “Yeah. The good news is, I get to go edit debut tracks for a rookie group for the next eight hours.” He clicks his tongue.
Namjoon nods. “You want some company?”
“Maybe later. Once you sober up,” he adds, cracking a smile. Namjoon chuckles good-naturedly before clearing his throat.
“I, uh, didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but… I found this in the back seat.” He fishes something out of his pocket and hands it to Yoongi. Yoongi opens his hand automatically, his stomach turning weakly when a small, bright green earring falls into his palm.
The hook of the earring digs into his palm when he enters the top floor of the building. Yoongi takes a seat at an empty table in the open floor pantry and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his emails. The floor is busier than usual; some team seems to be celebrating a colleague’s birthday at another table, a cake with white icing and a couple of slices messily cut out sitting in the centre of the circle; one producer sits alone at a table with noise cancelling headphones on and typing aggressively on his laptop.
Yoongi looks around absently when his eyes land on the coffee station where - something pounds into his chest - he locks eyes with Miso. She holds his gaze for a couple of seconds before turning her back on him and dealing with her coffee.
The earring feels heavy in his hand and all of a sudden, he feels the urge to hurl it out of the window. There is next to no way it’s making it back to its owner in any case. After Miso had icily got into her car outside the motel this morning and Seungwan had driven her away, Yoongi had walked out of the room and watched her leave, proceeding to smoke two full cigarettes in the chilly morning.
The receptionist from last night had also appeared and he’d offered her a cigarette voluntarily, for she looked rather drained as well. Something about how quiet and isolated the place was, not a sound anywhere or even a breath except for the person next to him, made Yoongi feel so disconnected from everything that he felt numb. It was too early, too cold and too unfair. Next to him, the receptionist had chucked her half-smoked cigarette on the ground.
“You didn’t finish that,” stated Yoongi, not really caring.
She’d glanced at him before turning to look ahead, and Yoongi noticed for the first time the carnage from the storm in front of the motel: tree trucks, piles of scattered branches and leaves, water accumulated and overflowing from a ridge in the ground.
“Fuck it,” she’d said.
Maybe it was the aftermath of a terrible night or some sort of shared dissatisfaction with the world but fifteen minutes later, they were in the backseat of Yoongi’s car. It was quick, casual and ended almost as abruptly as it began, with both of them adjusting their clothes and going their separate ways with a brief, formal goodbye.
It seems like ages ago now, with Miso across the room from him, getting coffee outside her studio. Yoongi lowers his head and stares at his phone screen, not reading anything. From the corner of his eye, he sees her turn around and walk in his direction; she would have to pass him to return to her studio.
He can’t think about their argument last night any longer. It’s been rattling around in his mind all day: the rage, the guilt, the desperate desire to sit her down in front of him and read her damn mind. Most of all, there’s an inkling of shame somewhere, deep down, in knowing that his reaction last night had been exactly what she’d expected.
That’s what it had looked like, at least; her eyes had shuttered over at some point and she’d reverted to the old Miso, the one who seemed to live to annoy him and gave nothing, no indication of who she was or what she was thinking. Her walls that he’d worked so hard to make a crack in had gone up instantly, except this time there was a disappointment there he’d never encountered before.
A flash in front of him jerks him away from the table: a hand appears momentarily, placing a cup of iced coffee in front of him with a small thud, before disappearing. Heart racing in mild shock, he turns to see Miso walking away without a second glance, her fingers wrapped around another cup as she turns the corner of the corridor.
He stares at the cup. Sip it first, he’d say ordinarily, straight-faced with only a hint of irony. You’re just going to have to trust me, Min Suga, she’d say, shrugging and settling into her chair, giving him a challenging raise of the eyebrows.
Yoongi takes a sip of the cold liquid, feeling it coat his throat and savouring the hit of caffeine. After a moment, he gets up and heads down the corridor, stopping at Donghyuk’s studio and pausing before he knocks.
“Come in,” comes Miso’s voice, dry and uninterested.
Yoongi pushes open the door slowly to see her alone at the console, a laptop open in front of her and a singular lamp at the other end of the room being the only source of light. She looks at him very briefly before going back to her work. It almost seems as though she expected him to follow her; he can’t tell if she’s happy about it, though.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he says.
She simply nods in response, scrolling through something on the laptop.
“Listen,” he says again, placing the coffee on a table next to him and running a hand tiredly through his hair. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Last night…” He trails off for a moment, wishing he’d rehearsed this a bit before coming in here. “Well, firstly, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have… anyway. Sorry.”
Miso finally turns to him, looks him up and down, and then turns back around. “‘Kay. Is that it?”
“No.” He exhales. “I hooked up with someone this morning. After you left, the receptionist and I… we had sex.” He cringes inwardly at his own words but he can’t fathom how else to say it without mincing words. She’s still looking at her laptop; he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but her shoulders stiffen slightly. “Anyway. I just wanted to let you know.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then -
“So?”
“So?”
“Why are you telling me?” she asks, shrugging and turning around briefly. “I’m not your girlfriend.”
“I know you’re not. But…” He frowns, trying to suppress the annoyance in his stomach that’s already threatening to bubble up. “I’m just letting you know. Transparency and all that.”
“But it’s none of my business.”
Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, counts to three and slowly exhales. “Right. Well. It’s just something normal people do, I guess. Talk to each other and communicate when they’re…”
She turns around properly this time, her legs folded and her elbows resting on her thighs. “When they’re…” She raises her eyebrows. “When they’re hooking up? We made out a few times… are you telling me because of that?”
He doesn’t respond; he can barely look at her right now, anger and embarrassment creeping into his chest now.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of, Yoongi,” she says knowingly, as though she’s pointing out an unsatisfactory edit to a track. “I told you to stay away. But you didn’t listen. You stayed, you got attached, and you’re telling me about a one-night stand you had. And now you have some kind of… expectation of me when what you really should have done was stay away right from the start.”
“You know what? I’m starting to think the same thing,” he snaps, shaking his head and going to grab his coffee. “I guess forming an attachment with an ice queen is my lesson.”
“You got me attached, too.” It’s the only thing that makes him stop in his tracks. “And that’s the problem with getting attached - you start to care. And then when you find out something that you can’t help, something that’s out of your control and doesn’t fit the image of me you have in your mind - the damsel that needs saving because, admit it, that’s what I am to you right now - it shatters everything.”
Yoongi grits his teeth, but somewhere his throat starts to hurt. He grips the cup and turns around slowly to see her still sitting in the same position, face and voice unnaturally calm.
He needs to choose his words carefully, he knows, but she makes it impossible to think. “I do care,” he begins slowly in a low voice, staring at the floor. “You can make it out to be whatever saviour complex you want but I do care and I do want to help you and be there for you. What is wrong with you that you won’t let me?” he demands tightly, clenching his fist at his side.
“Because it won’t work,” she continues in that same state of forced calm. “This - this challenge? You can spend weeks and months and do all-nighters and collaborate with whoever you want but it’s not going to work. It’s beyond you now. And once you realise that, it’s just going to be an abandoned project. A file somewhere in your computer you just couldn’t crack. I don’t need to be saved,” she says after a moment. “So it’s better for you that you stop trying. And maybe you won’t be so disappointed anymore.”
Yoongi stares at her, her impassive eyes and slouched figure. It’s exhausting; he’s tired and drained and helpless and she simply moves farther and farther away each time.
“You got it, Kang Chanel,” he mutters. “I’ll stay away.” Not wanting to spend a second longer in here, he turns around and walks out of the studio.
Miso watches him leave, using every bit of strength in her to keep her mind blank, to push every single thought and emotion out and, for just a few hours, focus on something that isn’t her clusterfuck of a life. She spends the next few hours alone in the studio, eating take-out from a box and going on a Zoom meeting with Donghyuk.
When it’s nearly midnight, hours longer than she’d thought she’d stay (but wishing she could for longer), she begins to wrap up, saving and closing demo files and packing up her notebook, when her inbox pings.
“Damn it, Donghyuk,” she sighs, bending over to squint at the screen in the dark. Her heart skips a beat when she sees an instant message from Min, Yoongi. Index finger hovering over the mouse, she takes a deep breath and opens it. It’s a screenshot of what looks like a folder on a Mac laptop, but empty. She frowns when her laptop pings again.
[Prod Suga] [00:02]
[screenshot]
This is all the abandoned projects I’ve had in ten years.
Happy to stay away, but don’t you dare call yourself a project ever again.
—
Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)
If you need some good fluffy cutie stories, go check out the long term couple masterlists by @taetaespeaches . So goooddd. Make me wanna throw up for how cute it is 😜 my favorites are seokjin/poopsie and yoongi/kid yuhuuuuuu~~~~
Summary: Working at a coffee shop that only opened in the late hours of the night was the most exciting thing about your life, really. You never had that many friends, your love life was nonexistent, and you just couldn’t explain the feeling of not belonging that chased you no matter where you tried to find your place. It was when seven very handsome strangers came into your life that weird things started happening around you and within you. Could they be the ones to fill in what’s been missing? Or would getting involved with them and their world put you in danger?
Chapter Warnings: Someone is in trouble! Angst, Southside trouble.
WC: 3.8K
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You didn’t wake up until five in the afternoon. With your messed up body clock because of work, it wasn’t rare that you slept in so late, and with how exhausted you were when you went to bed, you could have slept for another eight hours.
But the hunger woke you up, and the events of this morning kept you up.
As you moved around your small kitchen on autopilot to fix up a quick lunch, your mind was swirling with the latest occurrences. So werewolves were a thing. Sure. Supernatural beings actually existed outside of Reddit forums and tumblr pages. Okay.
Maybe all of the caffeine you’ve been consuming all your life had finally caught up to you and messed up your brain chemistry. You should be terrified, packing up your little belongings and running back to your parents home; the only place you knew to be 100% safe.
Your small town girl views of the world had just been stretched so far out you could barely see the limits anymore.
And yet, you felt at peace.
As if that new knowledge had been inside you all of this time, dormant. And then someone reminded you of it, and you accepted it.
It didn’t mean you didn’t have questions, of course, you had a ton of those.
Which is why you had your phone in one hand, typing up your queries, as the other hand brought the cup noodles to your lips for a sip.
Seokjin is the eldest… Does that mean he’s the leader?
Do packs have a hierarchy?
How much do they behave like real wolves? I mean, they are real wolves, I suppose…
Can they only turn during the full moon?
Have they watched Twilight?
Mind reading?
You regarded that theory for a while. Now that you thought about it, there had been times where you could swear they were having a silent conversation you couldn’t hear.
“Oh, shit.”
You really hoped they couldn’t read just anybody’s minds, since that would be a little embarrassing for you. You could definitely say your own thoughts weren’t pure and innocent every time they were near you.
But you were only human after all –quite literally, at this point– and you had a good pair of working eyes and you could admire and recognize beauty when you saw it. Especially so when it came in the form of tall, strong, gorgeous men.
Wolf. Wolf men?
You almost tipped the cup noodles when the phone in your hand started buzzing. Part of you really wished it was Hoseok texting you to check in on you, just so you could speak to one of them again. And he did have your number now that you had called him to get help for Jungkook.
But the flashing name of your friend on the screen brought a disappointing pang to your stomach.
Kimee: Heyyyyy. Won’t you come over before your shift? I miss you!
You: You miss gossiping 😂
Kimee: Yeah, with YOU!
You: Well you might as well come over after your shift, I'm not opening the shop today. I'm way too tired, so I'm calling in sick.
Kimee: Ohhhh those boys you always talk about finally giving you the nice kind of trouble? 🤤
You: 🥴 I wish
Kimee was your oldest friend in Seoul. You had met her as soon as you made it to the big city, when the first job you landed was as a cashier at a 7Eleven not too far from your current apartment. The girl still worked there to this day, moving up the corporate ladder and managing the place.
She was the only one you could actually talk to about boys and stuff like that, the one you turned to for girly nights with white wine and on sale chocolate. So Kimee had definitely heard about the seven men that plagued your thoughts late at night and early morning.
Only there was no way you could tell her about your latest findings, you doubted she’d take it as well as you had.
Jungkook had been doing alright. His leg was completely healed, not even a scratch or a blemish was left on his skin. But he still moped around, still pretended to be too traumatized and upset. Just so his hyungs would dot after him. It didn’t work that well with the older ones of the pack, except maybe Hobi hyung who brought him a juice glass an hour ago.
Jiminie and Taehyungie were a little easier to persuade to do as he wished, which is how he convinced both of them to play a horror game on his computer. He was the one actually playing it, but Jimin was giving him tips as his character of the indie game walked around.
Taehyung was the one ignoring the game, as he laid on the maknae’s bed.
“This isn’t fair.” the second youngest scowled from behind the other two.
“I know it’s not, but you’re not the only one missing out on Yn time.” Jimin told him with a look over his shoulder, sympathetic to an extent.
“It’s been three days, hyung.” Tae groaned, hugging a pillow to his chest.
“Come play with us to distract yourself.” Jungkook invited.
But Taehyung didn’t want to play, especially not a game that had the potential to keep him up all night. And it was easy for Jungkook to be so calm, he had been with you four days ago, could probably still feel the buzzing from being near you, still smell you on his skin.
It was Taehyung’s turn next. He should be walking into Moonlight right now. If only Namjoon hadn’t grounded them. Maybe ‘grounded’ wasn’t the best expression, since they weren’t exactly forbidden to leave the house. But they weren’t allowed to go see you either, so what was even the point of going out in the first place?
Jungkook had been attacked by a Southside Clan member, near the coffee shop you worked at. The pack knew it was a warning, the maknae hadn’t been hurt enough for it to be considered a major threat, but it was still a clear sign that they couldn’t keep coming closer to their border and expect no retaliation.
It was also dark out, and the wolf came out of nowhere, so Jungkook couldn’t really identify who it was, or which pack he belonged to. All they knew is that they needed to be careful. So Namjoon had asked them for time and patience so they could come up with a plan, figure out what they should do moving forward.
But it was taking too damn long.
“I miss her.” Taehyung sighed dramatically, like a wounded puppy.
“I miss her too.” at the constant mention of you, Jimin couldn’t focus on the computer screen anymore. “Do you think she thinks we’re not coming back anymore?”
Taehyung let out an even louder cry. “Well, now I do! Thanks for that!”
Jungkook turned around in his gaming chair, a concerned pout on his own lips. He was never the best at following orders to the tee, especially if he didn’t agree with them. So he had a plan of sneaking out of the house tonight and going to see you despite his leader’s orders. Jungkook was keeping quiet about it, the more people knew, the bigger were the chances of him getting caught.
But the dejected looks on his best friends’ faces started to bug him too.
“What if we just–”
Jungkook’s words were interrupted as the loud banging on his closed door made the three youngest wolves jump.
“Pack meeting.” Hoseok’s voice called from the hallway. “Come down.”
As the maknaes made it to the living room on the first floor, the four oldest were already there.
Yoongi was biting the nail bed of his thumb, having a somewhat idea of what the leader wanted to talk about, Hoseok could not sit down, Seokjin was standing up near the window, as Namjoon stared at the dancing flames in the electric fireplace.
The leader didn’t want to let it show too much, but he was nervous for this meeting. Beside the usual stress that seemed to constantly follow them around lately, he had come to a decision he knew wouldn’t be taken lightly by his members. He wasn’t happy about it either, but his pack’s safety and his own principles had to come first.
They had priorities much more pressing than the feelings he himself harbored for you.
We’re all here. Hoseok was letting him know, as if he couldn’t sense the doubled anxiety in the room.
Namjoon turned around to regard his pack. It wasn’t easy to be the leader of a regular pack, even harder when all members were hot headed alphas who knew what they wanted; and what they wanted right now was you.
Bangtan had its highs and lows, just like any other pack, but they had been together for a very long time, they learned to respect each other and respect Namjoon’s authority and decisions. He hoped the same would happen tonight.
“Pack your bags, we’re leaving tomorrow.”
As soon as the words left Namjoon’s mouth, a cacophony of complaints filled the otherwise quiet living room. Jungkook was by far the loudest, as the others still showed some kind of respect to his rank.
“Guys, please–”
“I’m not leaving just like that!” the maknae whined.
“Me neither!” Jimin would go with anything Jungkook decided.
“Yeah, no way.” Taehyung was always right behind them.
“Okay, let's all take a step back, let Namjoonah talk.”
Hoseok wasn’t so happy about it either, but maybe Namjoon meant they would leave for the weekend, do a job nearby, be back on monday. No need for stress.
“We’re going to Dalju, and this isn’t open for discussion.” the leader told the pack, with a strong voice that left no space for protests. “It’s just for a little while, until things calm down.”
“Is this because of Yn?” Yoongi was the one voicing everybody else’s thoughts. “Because she’s human and she found out about us?”
“She didn’t find out about us, you told her.” Namjoon snapped. “Which you know goes against what we stand for.”
“She’s hardly the first human to ever find out about our kind, don’t you think this is overreacting?”
“She’s still the first one we ever told.” the leader pushed.
“She won’t tell anyone.” Jungkook added.
He probably should stay out of this, it was his fault you had found out, even if by accident. But Jungkook couldn’t just stand there and put his head down and follow the orders he didn’t agree with.
“This is about principles. We’re fighting with the Southside because they want humans to know about us, and what do we do? We let a human know about us.”
Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz.
“We are fighting with the southside because they are hurting people.” Seokjin corrected.
The eldest was the one who went to Namjoon first, all those years ago. He would always blindly follow his footsteps, believing his friend to have the integrity and the heart to do good and to always choose what was right for the pack. If Namjoon believed that going to Dalju right now was the best option, he would follow.
But he wouldn’t let Namjoon compare them to the Southside just for what had happened a few days ago.
Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz.
“This was fated to end in disaster anyway.” the leader pressed his temples. “It could never work, for any of us. Might as well walk away from her now.”
“That’s not fucking fair, you don’t get to decide that!” Jungkook was standing up, a low growl rumbling from his chest.
Hoseok moved a little closer to the maknae, hoping to ease the situation. If Jungkook kept pushing, Namjoon could take him as a threat and things could get ugly. Both men were used to butting heads, their personalities were similar that way. But they had never hurt each other.
And then again, they had never fought about a romantic interest before.
Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz.
“So we’re just gonna run away? Let the South advance and take over more territory because we won’t be here to defend it?” Yoongi hinted, a hand nervously threading through his blonde locks.
“I already talked to our neighboring packs, they’ll take over for a–”
Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz.
“For fucks sake, Hoseok! Turn that fucking thing off!”
The alpha voice was something Namjoon refused to use on his members, for it took away their free will. But sometimes, during heated situations like this, it still slipped. Hoseok looked nothing short of disappointed as he pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it off without even looking at the screen.
You weren’t stupid. You might not have a university degree with your name on it, nor did you graduate school with honors. But you weren't dumb. And you could definitely take a hint.
For the last three months and a half, the seven men had visited Moonlight regularly and you knew the coffee you served wasn't that good.
And then suddenly you find out about their deepest secret and they stop showing up altogether? Something was up.
But then again, you spent over two decades of your life thinking werewolves were nothing but Hollywood tropes and scary stories to tell in the dark. Their existence was clearly not out in the open. So, maybe, you finding out about them meant they couldn't see you anymore.
If that was the case, you'd respect it. You'd think one of them would have the decency to give you a heads up, instead of ghosting you, but you'd respect it. You were a big girl.
Even if it felt like something was constantly missing in your life now that they were gone.
That last thought made you laugh. You never used to be this dramatic. And suffering for men? Not like you at all.
You carried on with your night as normal, giving up hope yet again. You served a few patrons, almost kicked out a couple that was quite literally trying to fuck on one of the booths, tried out a new hot chocolate recipe you had bookmarked to make for Taehyung at some point.
But it tasted as bitter as your mood.
A shadow passing by the glass of the front door caught your attention, taking it away from the crossword puzzle you were almost done with. You didn’t see anything at first, the outside was pitch black; a great contrast to the lit up inside of the coffee shop. You had to squint a great deal, but then you saw it.
Two glowing orbs, red as blood, watching you from across the street.
For half a second you got excited, thinking it was Jungkook again, or one of your wolf friends. But the shiver running up your spine was anything but friendly. And as quick as they showed up, the eyes were gone.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
You were whispering under your breath as you picked up your phone with trembling hands. What if that wolf was the one who attacked Jungkook the other night? What if he was back for more trouble? With shaky fingers you shot a text to the only wolf you had the number of:
To Hoseok: Hey… So, just to check, are you, or any of the other guys, by any chance, coming to Moonlight tonight?
As soon as you pressed send you cursed yourself. Great way to sound needy and clingy. Last time –the only time– you called him, it had taken the man a while to answer, so you didn’t expect an answer right away.
You kept looking outside, trying to see anything in the dark.
“Everything okay?” you were so weirded out that a patron sitting by the window had to ask if something was up.
“Yeah, of course!” you regarded him with your best customer service smile.
You didn’t want him to leave right now, you’d be an easier prey if you were alone. So you served him an extra cup of whatever-the-fuck he was drinking and took the chance to get a little closer to the glass door to spy on the outside.
It definitely could not be any of the seven men you knew. You could just about see two wolves standing in the corner of the street, eyes not leaving Moonlight for a second. But unlike Jungkook, whose fur was lustrous and silky, despite the cut on his leg and the dirt from the outside; these two wolves had probably seen better days.
Both looked matted, even from a distance, and skinny.
As you walked back to the counter, you shot Hoseok another text:
To Hoseok: I think the ones who attacked Jungkook are here. Am I in trouble?
But the man hadn’t answered your first text, you doubted he would see the second one. Granted, it was pretty late at night, and since they weren’t coming in to see you anymore, you guessed they could sleep at normal hours now.
You had found his number by chance, when you were looking for the many papers left by patrons that took part in a raffle you had last month. So you went through the small cardboard box again, frantically trying to read any familiar names on the papers.
But you found no Jimin, Seokjin, not even a Namjoon.
As the costumer started getting up to leave, you got a little more desperate and typed out yet another message:
To Hoseok: I really think I’m in trouble and I have no idea what to do, and I don’t know who to call for help, so. Please answer.
You stared at your phone, willing any wolf god out there to hear your prayers and turn the little check mark at the corner of your phone into ‘read’. It was a mistake, since it meant you didn’t see the patron leaving Moonlight, much less the two men that walked into the shop as soon as you were alone.
“Good evening, pretty thing.” the seedy way the man talked to you made you take a step back instinctively.
It was the same man from a few nights ago, your usually drunk neighbor. And of course his friend was right behind him, always by the door, on lookout.
“No friends tonight, huh?” he took another step. “Kim Namjoon should be more careful with his playthings.”
“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave–”
“Now now, little girl. We are all friends here.” the man took a deep breath, inhaling the air, and you could swear his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “You belong to us, you belong to the South. You should be playing with us instead.”
You couldn’t text, not without taking your eyes off the man and any distraction could get you in even more trouble than you already were. Hoping you’d find the right button, your finger mindlessly tapped the screen, until the very faint buzzing let you know a call was being made.
“Hang up that phone, little girl.”
“Namjoon!” you gasped as you pointed to the glass door.
The man was stupid enough to fall for your bluff, which gave you enough time to run into the kitchen and lock the big heavy door behind you. You doubted it would be enough to hold the man, and if your suspicion was correct, it posed even less of a barrier for two wolves.
You pulled as many things as you could to block the door; tables, extra chairs, heavy pans. All the while you could hear growling from the other side and what sounded a lot like fabric ripping. In a last attempt to take cover, you locked yourself inside the employee bathroom.
Hoseok’s phone was going straight to voicemail now, and you had no one else to call. You could try the police, but it was late, and you were in Seoul. No one would believe you were being attacked by two wolves in the first place.
The noise outside doubled in volume as the minutes passed, as the sketchy werewolves did their absolute best to get to you. You guessed that being that skinny meant they didn’t have as much strength as a healthy wolf would.
You could hear the tumbling of pans and the scraping of wood on the floor, knowing they were closer. The loud scratching on the door made you want to scream, but you covered your mouth and closed your eyes shut.
Hoping for a miracle, you waited for the door to be pulled open sooner or later. The hinges were shaking and the knob was turning frantically. Your eyes were beaming with unshed tears, body shaking as you tried to hide behind the sink, making yourself as small as possible.
New growls could be heard on the outside, as the banging on the door completely stopped. More things were being dropped all around, what sounded like heavy bodies being thrown, whimpers and grunts.
And then everything got quiet. So quiet in fact, your own breathing sounded way too loud, your beating heart was deafening. So much so you barely heard the soft call of your name.
"It's okay… It's us." the voice called for you again.
"Go away!" you cried out. "You won't trick me!"
"Do you like hot chocolate?"
It was the soft voice of Taehyung repeating the first words you said to him that made you look up. You took deep breaths, forcing your heart to calm down, letting your body tell you it was safe to trust.
"Tae?" you were up on your feet, unlocking the door to spy through a crack. "Oh, thank god!"
You threw yourself into the tall man with the fluffy dark hair, never feeling so relieved in your life to see the mischievous man.
I knew I should have been the one to get her to come out. Jungkook grumbled to Jimin, who watched you holding onto his best friend like a life jacket in the middle of a turbulent ocean.
“It’s okay, little one.” Taehyung held you just as hard. “They are gone.”
“Did– did they die?”
You tried looking around, but Jimin blocked your vision. He didn’t want you to see the state the kitchen was, much less the rest of the coffee shop. The fight had been heated, the Southside wolves put up a good one. But they were no match for three alphas.
“No, the cowers ran away.” the blond man told you, soft small fingers caressing your cheek as you leaned into his touch. “We’ll get you home now, okay?”
“No, I can’t– they–” you were shaking your head, pure fear oozing from your body and masking your sweet natural scent.
“They live in her building.” Jungkook explained to the hyungs.
He had been to your apartment building a few times before, walking you home after a shift when it was his turn to visit you. And Jungkook had smelled the two wolves there, making the final connection tonight.
“We’ll take you somewhere else, okay? Where it’s safe.” Tae assured you.
And you nodded, knowing that, as long as you were with them you’d be safe.
Ooh did the maknaes go to cafe without the other know about it? And accidentally found out about the attack? Cant wait for the next chapter ellaaaaa....
SUMMARY: Yoongi has been in the police force for long enough to know that the system isn’t perfect, so when an injustice is about to put his protégé in jail, he has no other choice but to go to you. You’re the devil, but you’re hard to resist, and he needs to decide between falling into temptation or showing you that two can play the game.
WORD COUNT: 4.8k
GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut
RATING: R (explicit)
WARNINGS: corruption, power dynamics, blackmail, threats w/ a knife, slight degradation, sexual favors, oral (f rec)
A.N. I'm soooo excited, this fic is 🔥 Infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for working through my crazy and being incredible! Enjoy 🔥🔥
Yoongi huffed and threw his eyeglasses onto the keyboard, rubbing his eyes so roughly he saw lights. It was no use; no matter how much he went over the evidence, again and again, he couldn’t change it.
“Hyung.”
He uncovered his eyes, only to be met with Taehyung’s sadness. His shoulders sagged from the sleepless nights ever since Jimin had gotten arrested, with dark circles bringing even more desolation to his otherwise heavenly features. He knew it wasn’t Taehyung’s intention, but the sight only unnerved Yoongi even more.
“Go home, get some sleep.”
Taehyung flinched, “But—”
“That’s an order, Officer.”
Taehyung stiffened and instantly bowed and showed his respects to his Superintendent before turning and leaving. Only then did Yoongi heave a deep breath and observe around him. It was weird seeing his department at the police station empty, without the officers at their desks taking calls or doing paperwork while on one of their 24-hour shifts. But they had all been shaken up, and so he had sent them home.
He was proud of his Division, and as their Chief, he couldn’t be more certain of everyone’s conduct and character. This included Jimin’s, and it was the reason why he was losing his mind over this case.
No matter how much he reviewed the footage and evidence, there was no mistake — Officer Jimin had seemingly shot his partner dead during an arrest gone wrong. This was a natural conclusion, judging by the body camera of the now deceased cop, Officer Junghee, that had captured Jimin nearing him with a fuming pistol in his hand. One that matched the ballistics report on Yoongi’s desk.
This was why the prosecution wanted to charge him with manslaughter at the very least, but Yoongi could not be convinced. The body camera also captured the panic in Officer Jimin’s voice and expression as he tried to save his downed partner. Yoongi didn’t care if that was Jimin’s gun or if it was fuming in his hand — he didn’t believe it.
“It wasn’t me!” The words Jimin shouted as he was arrested conveyed an absolute world of hurt and combined with the shock in Jimin’s eyes was seared into Yoongi’s retinas, causing him to dig the heel of his hands into his eyes again. But no matter how much he attempted to change the image, it wouldn’t. Jimin, his protégé, was still being handcuffed and taken away while begging, “I didn’t, you have to believe me! He put it in my hands! Hyung!”
Yoongi nudged his eyeglasses off the keyboard, locked his computer, and grabbed his coat. On long nights like these, he didn’t bother staying in uniform, only wearing black pants with a white shirt and his badge and holster belt. He made his way outside and got into his car, acknowledging whoever he met along the way. Temperatures were freezing, and his car didn’t start immediately. He reached for his nicotine gum while he waited for the car to warm up. When it finally started, so did the 3 AM news on the radio right as he left the parking lot.
“In a shocking revelation, an officer from the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency shot his partner dead after pulling up to a suspicious vehicle in Dongjak District. The mounting evidence is undeniable, and the prosecution is discussing the potential penalty in such a case, with the spokesperson revealing in a press conference that while mistakes happen, justice needs to be served.”
Yoongi kept chewing and driving as the prosecutor’s voice echoed through the speakers. On the outside, Yoongi was the picture of calm, cool, and collected, but inside, he was fuming. He had spoken with the prosecutor many times, who preferred a clean-cut arrest to build his case to run for whatever political role he was after rather than fight for justice, as he claimed. Yoongi had always known that multiple interests abound in the justice system, but now he was starting to get pissed.
When he parked the car, he looked outside through the windshield, observing quietly as the people moved in and out of the Aether. The bouncers kept drunks at bay, and despite the booming music and the flashy lights, everything looked normal for a nightclub.
He removed his belt and badge, shoving them in the glove compartment so hard that something fell out. He reached to grab it from the floor, his frown instantly turning into a scowl. It was a photo of him hugging a woman, laughing, taken many years ago when they were still happy. When they were not even married yet, let alone divorced.
He got out of the car and ripped the photo into as many tiny pieces as possible, dropping the scraps in a trashcan along with his gum. Then he stopped in front of the bouncers with his hands in his pockets, saying six little special words.
“I want to see the boss.”
The first bouncer just scoffed a laugh and shook his head, but the second one eyed him from head to toe, “If you’re here to inspect, then you have to identify yourself first.”
“Not an inspection,” Yoongi said nonchalantly, glancing around. “It’s not an official visit.”
The smirking bouncer kept the flow of the people going in and out while the serious one, resembling the first almost to a T, pressed his earpiece further into his ear, waiting for orders. Yoongi had noticed the cameras already while he was walking up, and he wondered how long it would take for them to know exactly who he was and why he was there.
The serious bouncer moved closer to him, “Are you armed?”
“No.”
“I have to make sure.”
Yoongi glanced at him, then nodded, raising his hands as he let the man make sure he was unarmed. When the tall man rose from his knees after checking Yoongi’s ankles, he lowered his arms and waited for the goon to catch his breath.
“Alright, you can go in.”
He moved past the bouncers and into the entryway, but he hadn’t even made it to the coat check when someone approached him. Just by the light clothing, styled hair, and badge hanging on his belt, Yoongi could immediately tell that the man worked there.
“Follow me.”
Yoongi wasn’t there to sightsee, but he could appreciate the columns and marble structures and statues. Along with the paintings, velvet curtains, and carpets, it made the Aether look like a temple or divine abode of the Gods. The aesthetic intensified as they went up the stairs, but he didn’t have time to register much. In a second, he was walking into what appeared like an ordinary office — a pleasant space with a large desk at the center in front of huge dark windows that showed the lights flashing from the dance floor. He ignored the liquor table, the cabinets with files, and the black velvet sofas to the side. What his eyes were immediately drawn to was you — you who had pushed the large computer screen to the side so you could watch him come in. Your chin rested graciously on your intertwined fingers, with your elbows on the desk, eyes flickering with amusement, watching him through dark curled lashes. He hadn’t even noticed he had walked to your desk or that the door had closed behind him, but then you stood up, letting your delicate arms fall alongside your tight black dress. Your black, straight hair slid over your shoulders, framing the plunging cleavage of your dress, and when you smiled, he felt hot—molten hot.
“Welcome, Superintendent,” you smiled with a glint of amusement, your perfect teeth shining in the overhead light, and he clenched his fists behind his back. “Or should I say Yoongi? I was told you weren’t here in an official capacity, but…” You eyed him from head to toe, and he did his best to stay poised and calm. “You don’t look like you’re here to club.”
Yoongi was already sweating, not out of nervousness but because of you. Because you always eyed him like you owned him, always had a hint of mischief to every smile, and were always as elusive as a ghost. One he couldn’t catch and had grown tired of running after.
Still, hearing his name in your mouth for the first time… made him pull on the collar of his shirt, “Not here to party; I’m here on business.”
Your eyebrow twitched, and he looked at you seriously; you were a cunning fox of the worst kind. Worse than a weed, than a pest, than the bloody smoke still hanging in the air and making his fingers twitch. He had a simple goal, and he had to stay focused.
“Not an official visit, but you’re here on business…” you mused out loud then shrugged. “Soon, it will be four in the morning,” you revealed with a hint of disdain as you neared the table that held liquor in crystal decanters. “Surely, if you wanted to do something official, you’d wait at least three more hours?” You chuckled as you poured a finger of whiskey into a glass. “Want some?” He shook his head, and you shrugged again. You made your way back to your desk, but instead of going around it, you perched on the side of it, close enough for him to see your dress parting, giving hints of your upper thighs, “What can I do for you, Chief?”
Yoongi had nerves of steel; he ignored the lush skin of your thighs, the cleavage, the numbing sound reverberating through the walls, the dimmed lights, and the way your eyes seemed to challenge him with every blink.
He focused, “I want your help.”
Your eyes widened comically, the image of innocence and confusion, “Mine? What could such a powerful person need from me?”
Thankfully, your coy attitude irritated him and helped him concentrate. “I know the suspicious car they were chasing was one of yours.”
Your eyes widened even more, but this time, you brought your glass to your lips to hide a smile, “My, my, Officer. I know I have many cars, but to say I was a fugitive—”
“You know what I mean,” his jaw clenched, and you licked your lips.
“I don’t,” you could only smile, and he clenched his fists again. There it was. It pissed the fuck out of him. “Are you going to arrest me, Chief? Make good use of those deduction skills of yours and put pretty handcuffs around my wrists?”
He hated that his heart jumped in his chest as you whispered salaciously and leaned into him, shortening the distance between you. He hated how tempting you looked, and he hated the way your eyes fixed on his, as if you were ready to follow suit with your provocation. You were probably a tease like that with everyone all the time. It pissed him off even more.
He only blinked, ever the master of showing a relaxed demeanor, “I have no evidence to arrest you, nor am I here in that capacity.”
It instantly hit him, as you straightened your back and finished the drink in your hand, that he was going to have to ask for your help. Not outsmart you, not convince you, not squabble with half facts and hunches — he needed your help and that meant he had to come down off his pedestal.
“My— An officer from my team will be sentenced for something he didn’t do. I’m out of options; I’ve hit a dead-end.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line as you put down the empty glass, “Don’t tell me — the system he holds and protects with his life won’t even try to prove his innocence.”
His jaw clenched; he hated that you weren’t completely wrong. “I’m trying to prove his innocence.”
The corners of your mouth twitched in a smile. “What makes you think I can help?”
He kept his mouth closed for a thoughtful moment. There was no use in accusing you again. Your smile wasn’t sly, so he decided to go for it. “You’re one of the biggest players.”
“Me?” You acted surprised, “I just own a few businesses here and there…”
“They say you’re the one to contact for information.” You tilted your head, and he insisted, “Even if that wasn’t your car, you’d know about it because it was on your turf. You’re you. I just know you know something that can help us solve this.”
That answer seemed to satisfy you because your lips and eyes revealed a small yet genuine smile that caught his breath. It made him realize he was leaning towards you now, exposing himself like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. Not when you looked at him like that, feeding into his hope.
“Say I do,” you started, eyes fixed on his. “Say I have evidence that could exonerate Officer Park.” He snapped straight; he had never told you the name of the Officer, and the media didn’t know it either. Yet what got him were your words, “Why would I help you?”
He clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth clicked. He just about growled with the way irritation mixed with his desperation, making him reel.
“Come on, Chief. Talk to me,” you pressed, wanting him to push through both the shock and the stick up his ass. “You must be desperate enough if you’re asking for my help, and I’m not denying it. I’m saying I might have what you need. What would you do to save an innocent from prison for life or worse?”
He didn’t think, “You have it? Something that could undeniably prove his innocence?”
He knew before he was done asking that it was impossible and that he was acting crazy. Yet, you leaned into him, meeting him halfway, your breath hitting his chin, “In those exact words? I do.” You sat back and let your words sink in, not knowing they gave him a full-body shudder. He always knew you were powerful and had your ways, but holy shit— “What do you have that I want?”
He opened his mouth but instantly closed it. Objectively, he had nothing. But maybe there was something he could do. First, though, he needed to know it was real. “What evidence do you have? Show it to me—”
“Hmmm, no,” you pressed your lips and twisted your nose, displeased. “That’s not how this works. This is based on trust. Besides, you don’t seem to have anything to offer.”
For a split second, he wondered if you were bullshitting him, but he honestly didn’t care. He had to do something. “You want something concrete for a maybe?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” your tone hardened as your expression lost humor.
“Alright, name it. Tell me what is worth your help.”
His tone was soft, and it worked to soothe you. His dark eyes helped; there was so much willingness in them, and you liked that. The man there asking for your help to correct an injustice was the kind of man you were looking for.
“Since you asked,” you cheekily started, pulling your hair behind your shoulders. “I want three things.” He didn’t even blink, so you continued, “The first is a favor. Of my choice and at my discretion whenever I shall need it. The second is for you to get on your knees. And the third is for you to eat.”
He blinked, “What?” He looked down to follow your hands over your thighs, and you spread your legs for him, though the black dress covered between them. He shook his head in bewilderment, “You’re crazy!”
“Crazy?” You chuckled, “I think I’m being quite reasonable.”
“You— Do you hear what you’re asking?”
He sounded breathless and could feel the heat on his cheeks, which was not ideal. He almost managed to step back, but a quirk of your eyebrow kept him still — he needed that evidence.
“Oh my, Chief Min. Are you getting heated at the thought of a couple of favors?” He scoffed, and you continued your tease, “Or is it the knees? Too proud to beg?”
“No, not too proud,” he mumbled between teeth. He was ready to kneel on the floor and beg, and the heat rising in his neck told him the rest wasn’t a problem either. And that was the problem. “The favor—” He cleared his throat, scratching it, “What is the favor?”
“I don’t know yet,” you shrugged, and it seemed to him like it didn’t matter. He knew that couldn’t be true, that had to be what you were really after — something specific from the Superintendent of the Seoul Metropolitan Police. And yet your eyes were shining in such a way that he almost forgot who you were. Almost.
“Something illegal, no doubt.”
You sighed and he took the moment to let the anger cool him — you were a criminal about to use his good intentions to surely accomplish something even worse. Instead of cooling him, irritation made him snap his knuckles and shift on his feet.
“I don’t know what it is, but it shouldn’t matter,” you said more coldly, squinting your eyes. “What is worth an innocent’s life? You decide.”
There was a hint of impatience in your tone that only riled him up more. He turned to you, “What’s stopping me from just—”
“You’re not that stupid,” you interrupted, raising your chin. His eyes noticed the surveillance cameras and you smirked, “They’re not who you should be concerned about.”
Your smile was predatory but he scoffed. You didn’t need to threaten him, and he didn’t like the coercion. He refused to look at you for a moment, giving you the impression that he was weighing his options. In reality, he was figuring out what angered him more — the fact that he was about to make a deal with a devil like you, or that he was that turned on from it.
You huffed and got off the desk, your heels clicking on the floor like a timer had just gone off. “Never mind—”
He grabbed your arm to keep you from walking away, and in a second, something sharp was poking his lower stomach. You both froze in place, your gaze angry and fixed on his, while his heart raced inside his chest. He didn’t let go of your arm, and you didn’t lower your knife.
“I never heard a yes from those pretty lips, so…” you spoke quietly, then pressed the blade harder. “Hands off.”
He knew you could put your money where your mouth was, and that if you wanted to kill him and get rid of him, you would. Yet, his grip didn’t lessen as he observed you. He was still trying to figure things out — not what to do, but you. He hated you objectively; you represented everything wrong with the world. Jimin was innocent; you shouldn’t be bargaining for his life, you should do the right thing. But you weren’t, you wanted to play with fire. Maybe even to get burned.
“What is it…” he started quietly, still eying your angry eyes. “Is it the risk? The humiliation? The footage for blackmailing me later? The power over a figure of authority?”
You scoffed, leaning in to answer just as quietly, “No risk, Chief. The footage might be insurance, but you’re a man of your word. No power over you because you’ll be doing it willingly. And no humiliation,” you chuckled. “It’s a privilege to eat at this table. Although…” You looked down, then smirked. “I can play if that’s what you like.”
He looked away from your eyes for the first time and almost flinched; his pants had a tent. He couldn’t even think; why was his body betraying him like this? He tried pulling away and letting you go, but you pressed the tip of your knife harder.
“Nuh-uh,” you whispered, taking a deep breath a little closer to his neck. “I heard the missus left cause you couldn’t get it up, but won’t you look at that—” Your tone was sly, and he gripped your arm harder in retaliation. You laughed, “I guess she just didn’t know how to play. Or maybe you like this,” your voice lowered wantonly, and a shiver ran up his spine as though he was starting to attune to it. “Like not having a choice, to be in danger, to be forced to do something reprehensible.”
He had to lick his lips because for a second he thought he was drooling, “I have a choice.”
You smiled and his cock twitched, “Then choose.”
He eyed your smile and leaned into you, but you chuckled and playfully pressed the tip of the knife to impose distance, ignoring the red droplets tainting the fabric.
“On your knees, Chief.”
His eyes snapped to yours, and he pulled you by the arm, disregarding the blade, so you’d walk back until the back of your thighs hit the desk. Then, he gripped your hips and helped you on the desk, fisting your dress in the same movement to get it out of the way as he kneeled between your legs. Your knife had slipped from your hand as you rested them on the desk for support, and you didn’t think to pick it back up. You wanted him to eat you and mean it, but he was going above and beyond — nuzzling your thighs and inhaling your scent, frantically fighting with your dress, and trying to pry your legs further apart so he could have access.
When his nose poked your clit, you jumped in place, and his fingers dug into your hips, even through the fabric of the dress. Just looking at the way he was fighting to get his mouth on you was positively melting you, but you wanted it to actually happen.
“Slide them down,” you breathed after he nuzzled and licked your core through your panties enough times to cover you with goosebumps.
He immediately obliged, and you shimmied to help him get rid of them. He threw them on the floor, then gripped your legs apart before giving you a look that seared you in place. You didn’t know what it was, but you were living for it, and the excitement burned your gut. The Superintendent looked like a piece of forbidden heaven between your thighs; who knew he’d have you melting like this just at the hint of doing what you asked?
A smirk spread on your lips as he kept struggling with your dress, until suddenly — rip. He bunched the fabric and pulled it, causing the slit that revealed your thigh to rip, and you chuckled. You liked that energy, that hunger; the way he was willing to destroy to have his way. Instantly, he had free leeway to uncover your core and press his mouth, rolling his tongue all over your slick folds.
You jolted with a sigh, gripping his hair at the back of his head. The more he laved his tongue over your slit to taste you, the more you had the urge to move, but you stayed still. With your eyes closed, you enjoyed every second of his discovery, from his licks to his tasting and humming. You heaved the breath you were holding when he nibbled your heat right before finding your clit to suckle, and your voice finally came out. You could almost laugh at how easily he had found his way, but your mind wasn’t there. While he found his rhythm, you guided him with expressive sighs, grazing your acrylic nails over his scalp without ever forcing him. You wouldn’t; his hunger was part of the power trip. Chief Min would eat you, give you what you wanted, and service you because you had that much power. You could bring someone like him to his knees. He liked it.
You suddenly pulled on his hair so he’d look up at you, and he did, not even bothering with a quizzical look. You bit your lip to stop a smile and relented your grip, and he looked down for a second. It was all it took for him to get back to it, and you let your head fall back with a sigh — case in point.
“The things you do for duty, Chief…”
His tongue kept laving over you as if you were desert, focused, regardless of your taunt. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten where he was or why because his hands started gently exploring your spread thighs. His fingers pressed to your curves and didn’t stop even when he felt the garter that held the knife you had used on him. Instead, he pulled on it, making it snap against your thigh, ripping a stronger moan from you.
It was then he realized you needed something stronger, so he pressed his face harder against your cunt, latched onto your clit, and started rutting into you. You were surprised but instantly melted, and your fingers curved around his hair. The grind of his lips pressing into you while his mouth held the suction was already maddening, but the thrumming of his tongue on your clit was the cherry on top. You didn’t have time to make it a challenge, or maybe you didn’t want to; his rhythm was perfect against your heat, and you moaned when it intensified. The strumming was precise and maddening, each tap firm and steady, giving you enough time to despair for the next one and moan when it came, leaving you to anticipate what would come next.
Your hips started moving on their own, and that was when you knew you had let go. There was no point in pretending he wasn’t doing it just like you wanted, or that you weren’t rolling into his face to feel him harder, forcing him to dig his long fingers into the flesh of your hips as he drank the slick melting out of you. The very sounds of his humming and licking drove the blood to your cheeks and emboldened your hips, messily humping against his mouth. You could feel the edge right before you, and every time you ground on his mouth, you thought that would be it.
“Fuck,” you groaned between teeth, looking down to find burning brown eyes drinking you more greedily than his hot mouth. He wasn’t stopping you or holding you back, he was letting you fuck his mouth however you wanted, and it popped you.
You let your head fall back and pressed his face to your cunt, your moans pitching higher when he sucked harder, as if to pull all the pleasure out of you like it was venom. He rode your climax with you, gripping your trembling legs around him as though he wished you’d smother him, and finally, you looked down. Your walls were still throbbing in the aftershocks when he dragged his tongue across you slowly, and you groaned through a smirk, then pulled him away by the hair.
“Easy there,” you smiled and let your legs down.
You quickly pulled your dress down to cover you again while your other hand raked through your long hair, putting it in place. He rose slowly to his feet with his eyes on you, and you didn’t even try hiding your heaving chest; he could see it well with such an observant gaze. His eyes were so intense that you shuddered and bit your lip, but avoiding them only landed your own on his evident arousal, and you smirked.
Looking up, for a moment, your taunt got caught in your throat. Min Yoongi looked the absolute best covered in your cum from nose to chin — deliciously ravenous.
You licked your lips, raising your hand to his face but stopping before you touched him. He mimicked you, his pink tongue collecting your slick over his lips while he focused on yours. Still, when your hand moved down, so did his eyes. You smirked, dodging his erection at the last second to hide your hand under your dress.
You hummed, closing your eyes as your fingers collected your wetness mixed with his saliva, and then brought them straight to your mouth. You licked them first, tasting what he did before putting them in your mouth and sucking.
You clenched, knitting your eyebrows as you realized how turned on you were. You were throbbing and craving something to push into you and fuck you senseless, and opening your eyes, you saw the same urge staring right back at you.
Your fingers left your mouth with a pop, and then you smiled, shaking your head, “Should have asked for a good fuck too.”
His dark eyes stayed on yours for a moment, and even when he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, they remained on yours. It was almost a taunt, and you grinned; you loved a good challenge, and even more the kind of fucking that lustful gaze promised. But you knew the worth of asking, and you were not going to come out losing.
title: minted: part two (m)
pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au
summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag?
note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you!
note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all!
warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn
drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est
est. word count: 9.8k help me @ god
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There’s something to be said about the human gut.
Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain.
But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.
Who is this person next to you?
Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run?
You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.
How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.
Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink.
To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”
No answer.
Alright.
“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”
All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking.
Okay. Well.
You can face forward, too.
“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”
“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”
Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”
As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree.
Mm. Does he?
From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down.
If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…
What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?
Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.
Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you!
Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too?
But that taxi drive…
Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff.
Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved.
All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is.
How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.
That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”
A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.
But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on?
One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…
Floor…
There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling.
But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with.
And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are.
“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.
Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?
Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.
You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.
The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?
How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home.
And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors.
Perfect.
“What.”
You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”
He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.”
…Is that really his only response?
“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.
“But it’s what you need.”
“Say what now?”
The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket.
But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends.
This is all too much.
“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.”
You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”
“You serious?”
“Yes, I am. So move.”
Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily?
…Oh.
That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian.
But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization.
No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun.
He did keep you alive that whole chase.
But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.
So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.
Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again.
Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done.
And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again.
Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal.
Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back.
No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance?
You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic.
Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening.
And someone’s inside?
Wait.
Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.
Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches.
However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire.
Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not.
You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse.
And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.
Yeah, you fucked up.
Fuck.
Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—
As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change.
What was that about?
“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”
“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline.
“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”
You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?
The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.”
Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.
Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.
Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!
In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”
“Shower.”
“What?”
“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.”
“It isn’t mine.”
“I know.”
Your mouth snaps shut.
Fuck. Yoongi’s right.
“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.”
When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls,
“Not interested.”
Oh. He’s…
Oh.
But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial?
The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”
A lie.
Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.”
Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core.
Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom.
Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”
“Closet.”
Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”
“Yes, princess.”
You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not.
The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room.
Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on?
As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here.
The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.
Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot.
Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light.
At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.
The whole setup is lavish.
Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use.
Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld.
Too bad you aren’t alone.
As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead.
Uhh.
What.
You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—
“You good?”
Fuck!
You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.
“You ever knock?”
“No.”
“Shocker.”
He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”
“Move.”
You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”
“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.
Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.
A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin.
You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air.
Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It’s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done.
Almost.
When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing.
Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state?
Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.”
Again with that little slant.
Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life.
“Suit yourself.”
You look up again.
But he’s already left you alone.
Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.
Why did you walk left today instead of right?
Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl.
The blood will never wash out.
Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.
Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.
Because at least you succeeded.
But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved?
Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.
Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.
You chose left today.
If you had chosen right…
Doesn’t matter.
Your palm tingles.
Blood never really washes out.
Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.
Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.
You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.
Thank the universe.
But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck.
Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright.
Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!
You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”
Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?
The duffle rests at his feet.
Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still.
No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut.
How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—
Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”
“You took too long.”
“So? That doesn’t—”
“In my shower.”
Wait. What? “Oh.”
You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.”
“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”
“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”
“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.”
Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel.
Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?
Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.”
“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”
Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”
“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.”
You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them.
Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.
On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer.
Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so.
Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside.
A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.
Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.
Do not engage do not engage do not engage.
Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your—
“You’re really mad about that, huh.”
You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”
“There was a cup of them on your table.”
“So why didn’t you grab those instead!”
Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”
Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”
“You were going to.”
As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.”
Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”
You blink at his deflection.
What was that about? What is that look for?
Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”
“Shopping.”
“Mmhmm.”
Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette.
And just like that, the conversation dies.
It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible.
But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly.
Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead.
Your noodles.
Your noodles.
You’re not hungry anymore.
Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill.
Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—
A hand.
A robed arm.
Your new utensils come back into view.
But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there.
Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes,
“Eat.”
Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain?
“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.”
“You are.”
“Not anymore.”
Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.”
The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.
“Thought you of all people would hate that.”
“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”
“Then eat.”
“I literally can’t—”
“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.”
“What?”
Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight.
“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.”
“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.”
“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”
“Don’t.”
Both of you still at your words.
And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin.
Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.”
You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier.
Yoongi looks pissed as hell.
But he hasn’t moved.
And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again.
You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today.
Fuck, you wanna hurl.
“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”
Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”
“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”
There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”
You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”
You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”
Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.
“Like I said.”
Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair.
“It’s better in the long run.”
Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this.
But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.
Fucking hell, this sucks.
Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes.
Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.
As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too.
Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers.
“What were you looking for.”
Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth.
“Did you find it.”
You swipe at both your eyes.
As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?”
“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.”
“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?”
Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.
This man is more dangerous than you thought.
“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”
“But I have what you want.”
You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”
“If you stay, I’ll show you.”
When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion.
And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl.
When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”
The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat.
Good riddance.
He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure.
But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out.
Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home.
Yearning pierces right through your chest.
The elevator is right over there.
You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.
Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No.
Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too.
How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase.
Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep.
Was that the elevator?
You cut the water off with a twist.
Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety.
A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room.
And your defense mechanism blares.
But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why?
You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too?
Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay?
Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?”
“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.”
Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?”
Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”
“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.”
Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”
“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.”
Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes.
“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.”
Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms.
There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest.
Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs.
“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.”
Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.”
Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine.
Well.
So much for leaving.
You may spend more time here than you thought.
With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call.
Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.
Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that.
Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now.
It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space.
Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere.
As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator.
So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”
Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”
Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”
“Do you always ask this many questions?”
You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”
“You’re quiet with me.”
“And even then I get you to talk.”
Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area.
God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet.
When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below.
Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out.
Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart.
That was so long ago.
You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time.
“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”
You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem.
Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.
Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm.
But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some.
Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter.
Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.”
“Do you even drink?”
“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”
Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.
It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying.
“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.
“This sector?”
“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.”
“It’s usually silent, too.”
Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.”
“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.”
You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”
He takes the offered can. “Mm.”
That answers that.
You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.
Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present.
The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs.
You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se.
Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day.
“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.”
“Why not?”
“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?”
“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”
“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”
“I know.”
Your look carries a slight pang.
“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.”
You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see.
But when it’s open, you freeze.
It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New.
Wait.
These patterns.
These are il-don?
Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless.
You’ve never seen them like this.
“They’re some of the last in mint condition.”
The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?”
“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.”
You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?”
Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.”
You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter.
Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.”
“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”
You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?”
Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?”
“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?”
Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.”
Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”
Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.”
“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”
“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”
“We? Leave me out of this.”
“Too late.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,
“I—”
“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”
Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.
Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself.
“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”
Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear,
“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”
Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe.
Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”
“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”
What.
“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”
Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…”
With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”
Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”
“Could’ve taken another train.”
“Stop.”
“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”
What the fuck is happening right now?
Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.
This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.
“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.”
Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away.
“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose,
“I should’ve left you for dead.”
Wait.
Stop.
This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.
Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?
Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—
Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.
“Go ahead then.”
Oh, this man is psychotic.
“Be my guest.”
No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”
“If you regret it, why waste time—”
“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”
Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever.
And it is frightening.
All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”
“Why.”
“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—
You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”
When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist.
But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.
“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.”
“Shut up—”
“But your will is weak.”
“I swear to—”
“Guess I was wrong.”
Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually.
But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you.
Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power?
Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?
Quite literally, you’re the one on top.
And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk.
He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can.
But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.
This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it.
And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.
With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.”
He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged.
Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes,
“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”
Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,
“That’s my girl.”
The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning.
To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it.
But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same.
So you quell that monster pacing in your core.
One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be.
“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.”
Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin.
Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.”
His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend,
“This world has already tried enough.”
Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again.
As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”
You slightly turn.
“You still want to go back?”
A pause. A nod.
His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it.
Quite the opposite. And that scares you more.
“If you do, you’re dead to me.”
Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else.
But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations.
“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,
“I know.”
The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip.
And you freeze.
Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate.
But fuck, you kinda want to.
Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed.
“What made you stay.”
A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…”
Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to.
And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.”
With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest,
“What a shame.”
Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong?
He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore.
“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.”
And just like that, he releases you to stand alone.
Oh. You’re going home.
Good.
This is good, right?
Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short.
What was that? What was any of that?
Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over.
…But do you want it to be?
Yes.
Of course you do.
Clouds let moonlight shine again.
When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.
A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.
Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real.
Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane.
Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.
And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging.
You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out.
How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed?
They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets.
They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—
A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes.
So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.
Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams.
Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own.
You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.
A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion.
There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air.
Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out.
The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too?
One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.
But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?
Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness.
Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start.
Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do.
This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.
As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows.
Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity.
For nothing.
All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all.
Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal.
What a shame, indeed.
As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.
And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder.
Fuck everything.
“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.”
Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares.
“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”
This is it.
The brink of no return.
Your soul dips into the dark.
“Please make me fucking forget.”
—
—
⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist
a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going.
a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading!
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Summary: Namjoon is on holiday with his girlfriend - and without Namjoon, all hell breaks loose.
Pairing: OT7 x OC (different OCs)
Genre: Humour, fluff, angst, chaos
Word count: 6.9 K
Rating: 18+
Warnings: language
A/N: I can't believe we're finally here! This fic has been in mind for so long, slowly evolving from a concept with a soundtrack to a whole outline and now to a complete half of a fic! Everything from the song to the situation to the leap that most of the characters will take feel like a milestone, so here's hoping it's a good one *insert gatsby meme*
The teaser to this fic got a lot of reactions :D so to make it worth the anticipation, this will be split into two parts. It is set a week or so after Dinner at the Kangs'. Enjoy!
Tagging: @bbl32@quarter-life-crisis2@dreaming-with-happiness@faearchives@margopinkerton@purpleseoul7@confessionsofamarshlily @jiminjhang @xjoonchildx @tarahardcore @infinitehobi @handfullofcandids @whoisbts @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)
Listen to: “bittersweet symphony" by the verve
teaser | main masterlist
November in Seoul rolls around unexpectedly soon and occupies its usual position: a harbinger of the cold and white winter months, making the heat and humidity of summer a distant memory.
With BTS’s world tour officially at an end, followed by its normal uptick in concert clips and dance challenges floating around the internet while the company celebrates amidst figurative piles of cash, the members finally have the luxury of a few weeks off work where seeing them off stage and in casuals is the new novelty.
This includes Namjoon as well. After a tumultuous year of heartbreak and pain and longing, along with the real and genuine fear that he may have to give up the girl of his dreams due to extenuating circumstances, he and Kaya mutually decide that they need time away to reconnect with each other. Leaving behind their homes in Seoul and Amsterdam respectively, they reunite at Auckland Airport from where they take a cab in relative anonymity to begin their vacation.
With Namjoon gone, the company automatically takes it easy on the group as well. With Namjoon gone, the members manage to relax, able to keep an additional distance between them and the company before work inevitably starts again and the nomadic life of sleepless nights, dance practices and event appearances resurface.
Perhaps they underestimate their leader’s role in their lives, or it simply does not occur to them just how dependent they all are on each other after a decade of working, living and breathing in synchronicity. Namjoon is only gone for three weeks in total - but with Namjoon gone, all hell breaks loose.
With Namjoon gone, one member crosses a line.
With Namjoon gone, one member unintentionally makes a mess.
With Namjoon gone, one member makes a joke without realising its consequences.
With Namjoon gone, one member does something he’s ashamed of.
And with Namjoon gone, two members kiss someone they shouldn’t.
—
“Screen, food, lights - check.” Jimin tucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he frowns at his phone screen, eyes flitting between it and the writing pad he’s hastily scribbling on. “Need to pick up the champagne - oi, Jungkook, can you give me a ride to the liquor store? My car is getting serviced this weekend.”
“What about your Toyota?”
“It’s at my apartment. That’s farther than the liquor store.”
Jungkook pauses and looks up from the stove, across the kitchen island from Jimin. “Wait, the liquor store is in the building. Why do you need -”
“Not that liquor store,” interrupts Jimin patiently. “I need to go to the one in Gangnam, which has the tasting menu and assortments.”
“Why -“
“Because it’s Sooah’s birthday,” answers Taehyung from where he’s lying down on the sofa, scrolling through his phone and not bothering to look up. “Normal champagne won’t cut it. Not for Kim Sooah.”
Hoseok frowns, coming up from behind Jimin and peering at the writing pad. “Why not? Wait - why do you need professional lighting and sound equipment?” he asks, reading from it. “And food from Golden Pig? I thought the lunch was at MOBO Bar. Hang on -“ He looks bewildered. “Isn’t her birthday tomorrow?”
“The lunch tomorrow is for all her friends,” supplies Jungkook, pouring a steaming pot of cooked ramen into a bowl. “Tonight is just hyung and Sooah.”
“Yes, and don’t anyone be late tomorrow.” Jimin reminds them in a business-like tone, continuing to check things on his phone and tick them off. “I know you guys have to film a thing tomorrow morning, but make sure you come straight there. And, seriously - can anyone drive me to the liquor store or not?”
“I have a Zoom meeting starting in five minutes,” says Hoseok, clapping him on the back, “or I totally would. What about Yoongi?”
“He’s not here. He left for a meeting in Incheon this morning,” chimes in Jungkook again. “Won’t be back until later.”
“How much later -” Hoseok starts to ask, but is cut off by Jimin huffing.
“So no one can take me to the liquor store?” he demands. “Which is, like, twenty minutes away? I wish Namjoon hyung were here,” he adds sullenly, shaking his head. “He would’ve driven me.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” says Hoseok indulgently. “Taehyung, you can take him. Your car has a ton of extra space, too.”
“I’m busy,” answers Taehyung listlessly, still on his phone. When no one responds, he looks up to see all the other three staring at him. “Fine, I guess I could,” he agrees with a huge sigh, clambering off the sofa and trudging to the dining table, sliding into the seat adjacent to Jimin’s.
Jimin narrows his eyes. “It’s not such a big deal, you know. You can just give me your keys if you want.”
“Yeah, why are you in such a mood today, anyway?” Hoseok asks, his hands on the back of Jimin’s chair.
“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, running his hands over his unwashed face. “I’m just…” He shakes his head and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Hungry, I guess.”
“Hungry?”
“That’s code for horny,” says Jimin, raising his eyebrows nonchalantly when Taehyung looks up to glare at him, but doesn’t disagree.
Hoseok snorts as Jungkook joins them with his ramen, silently sitting across from Taehyung. “That must be some dry spell if you can’t help out your buddy,” he says, a bit pointedly.
Taehyung observes Jimin for a moment, then sighs. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s go to the liquor store. I’ll help you look for the best champagne out there - and since you’re not driving, you can try every single thing on the tasting menu,” he offers in a moment of generosity.
Jimin’s head snaps up from his phone. “Really?” When Taehyung nods, relief floods his cherubic face. “Thank God. Because I - I really need tonight to be absolutely perfect -”
“I know, I know,” interrupts Taehyung, clapping him on the shoulder and standing up. “I’ll just grab a quick shower and we’ll go. Jungkook,” he says, waiting for the younger member to look up in surprise. “Want to come along?”
Jungkook, who’s polished most of his bowl clean by now, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Me?”
“Yeah,” answers Taehyung evenly. “Why not?”
There’s a flicker of doubt in Jungkook’s eyes which he seems to partially blink away. “Yeah. Yeah, no, yeah - I mean - sure.” He scoops up a large bite of noodles with his chopsticks and inhales it. “Jus’ give me a minute,” he says through a mouthful of food.
Taehyung nods. “Ramen looks good,” he says after a moment. “Can I have a bite?”
Jungkook nods instantly and pushes the bowl across the table. Taehyung takes a bite, slurping the sauce until he’s swallowed the entire thing. “Delicious,” he says honestly, waiting just long enough to see Jungkook smile before turning around and heading into his room.
—
“This one’s fruity,” decides Jimin, smacking his lips and frowning seriously. He places the small glass down and picks up another, giving it a sniff and proceeding to take a sip. “But this one is definitely more bubbly.”
It takes a lot for a liquor store to provide a tasting menu for champagne, but for the correct price, it can be done. Taehyung isn’t entirely sure how much Jimin has paid for this particular round of testers but he gives his honest opinions, careful to keep his friend’s spirits high for today.
It hadn’t occurred to him back at the house, but it seems obvious now why Jimin is so anxious about tonight. If Taehyung’s hunch is correct, it’s because it’s Sooah’s first birthday since they’ve gotten back together after years of sniping and occasionally hooking up, and Jimin has taken on the pressure to make it perfect to the next level.
“I like this one.” Jungkook points to a bottle on the shelf. “We had it after the last concert, remember?”
Jimin looks up briefly and shakes his head. “Chandon is the last resort, if I find nothing better today. Come on, it’s Sooah’s birthday. Chandon is way too basic.”
Jungkook raises his eyebrows but says nothing, his eyes meeting Taehyung’s, who takes his hunch to be correct.
“I’m going to go see if there are any other bottles at the back,” says Taehyung, leaving Jimin to overthink the little glasses of bubbly liquid. He stops by one of the staff and leans in. “Can you bill a Chandon anyway?” he asks in a low voice. “Just in case?”
“Of course. Should I combine it with Mr Park’s other purchases?”
Taehyung shakes his head. “Put it on my tab.”
The staff nods and takes a bottle up to the register as Taehyung turns the corner to another shelf full of champagne, Jungkook a few steps behind him.
“That was nice,” he comments, hovering at the edge of the shelf.
“He deserves it,” mutters Taehyung, feeling slightly guilty about his standoffish behaviour at the dorm a little while ago. “Guy’s stressing way too much. I know Sooah will love whatever he’s planning. She’s chill that way.” He pauses. “What is he planning, anyway?”
“I mean, I don’t know all the details but I think it’s one of those movie screening things at the park.”
“In public? At the park? What - are they going to sit in the back and pour out champagne while everyone else is drinking cokes and beers?”
“What? No, he rented out the whole park,” explains Jungkook. “It’s just them, with a huge screen and seating and food - and champagne, I guess. He’s got professional sound equipment and heating and blankets and everything. He really went all out.”
Taehyung stares, a bit horrified but mostly impressed. “Wow. That actually sounds really romantic.”
“It does,” agrees Jungkook absently, peering at the label of a bottle where he’s still standing at the end of the aisle. “I just hope it goes well.”
“So do I. And I hope it doesn’t rain,” he points out. “It’s been drizzling every day and raining in parts of the city. It could really put a damper on the whole outdoor movie thing.”
“Yeah. Hopefully it won’t.”
“Hopefully.”
A slightly awkward silence falls over them. Taehyung glances over at him to see him pick up a bottle of whiskey from the opposite shelf. He turns the bottle over in his hands before looking at the price tag, letting out a low whistle and placing the bottle back.
“What about you?” When Jungkook looks up, Taehyung continues. “Any plans today?”
“Uh, not really.” He pauses. “I have a date, actually. Kind of.”
“Yeah? With the tattoo artist?” When he nods, Taehyung grins. “Nice. Why aren’t you more excited about it, though?”
Jungkook gives a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. I was thinking of blowing it off. Going to the gym, maybe. Namjoon hyung usually joins me on Fridays and we spot each other on the bench press but I guess I’ll have to go alone today. Unless you want to come along?” he asks hesitantly.
Taehyung had spent a couple of hours at the gym yesterday but he nods anyway. “I’d love to, but why are you avoiding your date?”
“I’m not avoiding it. I haven’t worked out in, like… three days.”
“So come back and work out.” Taehyung frowns. “I have nothing to do all day so I’ll be here whenever. You may want to go easier on the weights with me, though.”
Jungkook chuckles, sounding relieved. “Give yourself a little more credit than that, hyung.”
“Please. Namjoon broke the lock on my bedroom door with one hand the day he left when he was looking for a spare set of Airpods.” Taehyung shakes his head. “He’s a menace, and he just adds to it whenever he starts working out.”
Jungkook laughs. “We’re definitely less clumsy in the gym than he is, that’s for sure. Is seven pm good for you?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Dilara has been pestering me to give boxing a shot, so, you know. Tonight might be the night.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, of course. That’s a good idea. I mean -” He shakes his head, as though getting rid of a fly. “It’s… it’s an idea.”
Taehyung is about to comment on this strange response but notices Jungkook gazing intently at the whiskey shelf again, his ears slightly red, and decides not to.
Ever since the Samsung event nearly a month ago, Jungkook has been almost walking on eggshells around Taehyung. Taehyung wishes he wouldn’t; that night had been awkward at best and contentious at worst, and had been entirely unexpected on various fronts. However, he and Dilara had awoken the next morning in an air of mutual forgiveness and shared an intimate couple of hours before breakfast, filled with silent apologies and hope.
Regarding Jungkook, Taehyung had had every intention of giving him the cold shoulder for a while, at least, still somewhat peeved at the sudden confrontation from his very non-confrontational friend. As it turned out, the moment they’d all reached Seoul and climbed out of their separate SUVs, Jungkook had cornered Taehyung outside their building and begun apologising profusely.
That had taken him more off guard than their argument last night; Taehyung had tried to get a word in amidst the explanations but looking at how horrible Jungkook clearly felt, he hadn’t had the heart to give him any more grief about it. Somehow, the whole situation had ended with Taehyung comforting Jungkook, telling him to forget about it, that he understood he and Dilara were friends.
Jungkook had looked like he wanted to say something more but he’d shook his head instead, and they’d hugged until Dilara stepped out of her SUV. Jungkook had skirted around both of them for the next few days until Dilara had left Seoul, after which Taehyung had gently but categorically told Jungkook to chill out.
He isn’t sure if Jungkook has got the message yet. He thinks he has for the most part; they’ve hung out many times since then, for work, with other friends - but maybe the mention of Dilara has suddenly made him clam up again.
“Sir.” The same store staff who was ringing up the Chandon appears from behind the shelf. “Mr Park has picked out a Cristal that will be delivered to his residence shortly. Anything else I can help you with?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Taehyung starts to say as he and Jungkook begin moving towards the front of the store. As the younger member continues on his way, Taehyung stops. Retracing his steps, he picks up the bottle of whiskey that Jungkook had been examining.
“Can you add this to the Chandon?” he asks, waiting for the store staff to nod before he joins his friends.
—
Seokjin [12:30]
Are you working late today?
Seulgi [12:33]
Not sure. Why?
Seokjin [12:33]
I’m on my way back from Annyeong now so I should be in Seoul in a couple of hours. Wanted to see if you maybe want to go out tonight?
Seulgi [12:36]
It’s supposed to pour today. And doesn’t look likely with my calendar anyway.
Seulgi [12:37]
But I’ll try, in case something opens up.
Seokjin doesn’t reach Seoul until almost three hours later. The long solo drive was a nice way to get some time to himself, especially with the mild anxiety that had started to creep up over the last couple of days, almost as though he was forgetting something. He would’ve spent a lot less time driving but the traffic was maddening; as per the radio, it was due to people driving in and out of the city for the weekend combined with rain warnings.
He reaches the dorm to find it empty. Ordinarily, he would’ve gone back to his own apartment but something about being back in his childhood home for a week, along with Seulgi’s distant demeanour, makes him want to be around his friends for a little bit.
As it turns out, none of them seem to be home at the moment but he knows they’re here: there’s a bowl in the sink with ramen sauce smeared on it; a Gucci hoodie he knows is Jimin’s is draped over the back of a chair; Taehyung’s bedroom door is slightly ajar, the bedcovers unmade and clearly slept in.
Seokjin sinks onto the sofa and lies down on it, closing his eyes and preparing for a nap. He has no plans for today whatsoever, especially if Seulgi doesn’t get back to him. He isn’t entirely surprised at her mood; ever since he’d ventured into the territory of him and Nari, she’d begun distancing herself from him.
He couldn’t blame her; he had no idea what he was walking into with Nari and the fact that Seulgi had to stand by and wait for him to figure it out would have to rankle. He wasn’t fully surprised when, a couple of days after the fact, she confessed to Seokjin that it wouldn’t be the worst thing to take some time apart.
Sleep doesn’t come to him, not really. He dozes off at least half a dozen times without actually falling asleep, his mind constantly replaying the last few weeks, with that nagging sense of stress and anxiety a constant in his mind. Seokjin lazes around until he marks the attempt futile, just as the front door opens and Jimin strides in with his phone to his ear, followed by Taehyung and Jungkook trooping in behind him.
“Hey, hyung,” they chorus, Jungkook falling onto the sofa next to Seokjin. “When did you get back?”
“Just a little while ago.” Seokjin looks around at them, rubbing his eyes. “Are you guys also staying here this weekend?”
Before any of them can answer, one of the other bedroom doors opens and Hoseok steps out, stretching and yawning. “Hey, hyung. How was the champagne tasting?” he asks Jimin, who holds up a finger as he continues talking.
“Oi, Hobi, you’re here, too?” Seokjin frowns, bewildered. “Wait, have you been here this whole time?”
Hoseok nods and points noncommittally to his bedroom as he walks over to the dining table to peer into a bag that Taehyung has placed on it. “Ooh, Chandon. Is that the one he picked finally?”
“Jimin chose the Cristal,” says Jungkook. “And he’s getting it delivered.”
“He did and it is,” confirms Taehyung, and says no more.
Hoseok raises his eyebrows. “Okay. And what about the Jameson?”
“That’s for Jungkook.”
Hoseok just about catches Jungkook’s surprised look before Seokjin speaks again. “So - wait, I thought Jimin’s lunch was tomorrow.”
“Sooah’s, and yes,” says Jimin, getting off the phone and finally looking up, seeming a bit frazzled. “Tonight is just me and her. There was some kind of confusion with the food,” he says to Taehyung, who’s giving him a questioning look.
“Oh, hey, if Sooah is going to be with you tonight, does that mean Chaeyoung will be home alone?” Hoseok asks.
“I guess,” answers Jimin vaguely as his phone rings again. “Damn it, it’s the park coordinator again.”
“The park?” Seokjin raises his eyebrows sceptically as Jimin takes the call, and turns around to look out the nearest window. “It’s already drizzling. It’s supposed to pour tonight, you know?”
Hoseok shrugs, while Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Doesn’t matter. Jimin is in charge and if he wants to give the birthday girl a night in the park, he’s going to make sure it happens.”
And suddenly, Seokjin knows what he’s been forgetting.
—
“Okay, wait.” Jimin exhales sharply and closes his eyes. “You said that you do have an option of a makeshift roof or something - but now you’re saying you don’t want to do it? I put a deposit down on the whole place,” he reminds him.
“Mr Park, I’m saying we can do it but I don’t recommend it,” says the coordinator patiently. “We use that for light drizzles or snowfall but the downpour that’s been predicted will render it useless.”
“There’s been a downpour predicted every single day of this week and nothing has happened,” he points out. “I’m okay to take that risk.”
“It’s not just the furniture, Mr Park.” The coordinator sounds mildly stern now. “It’s a lot of expensive sound equipment as well and I cannot, in good conscience, risk having it outside -“
“Okay.” Jimin interrupts him, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think. “What if we moved it to slightly earlier?”
“It’s already drizzling, sir.”
“Fine, do you have a different spot in the park?” He asks through gritted teeth. “Something more canopied, perhaps?”
The coordinator hums vaguely and there’s the clicking of a keyboard in the background. Jimin rolls his eyes at Taehyung, who’s approaching him with a questioning look, and mutes the call.
“I’m going to kill this guy,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I've been planning this for a month and he’s pulling the rug out from under me now?”
“I mean, he may have a point. If it rains then your plan is ruined - but it’ll probably stop in a bit,” Taehyung adds hastily when Jimin glowers.
“God, I hope so,” he says, although even he is starting to think that it might not. “I can handle a slight change of plan with the venue but the rest of it has to be perfect. There’s the food and the cake, and - oh, did the champagne arrive?”
“Er, not yet.” Taehyung checks his watch. “They said they would send it in an hour, right? Should’ve been here by now.”
Jimin is about to swear but just then, the park coordinator says something. He waves Taehyung away, accepting an encouraging clap on the back, and gets back on the call.
“Sir, we might have something on the other side of the park,” he suggests hesitantly. “The view is not the same, but it fits the general requirement.”
“The view - you mean it doesn’t have a view of the Han.” Jimin takes a deep breath, preparing to choose his battles. “Okay. What is this other side of the park? Where - how - I mean, what does it look like?”
“It’s in a way that the screen and the projector and all the sound equipment will be protected, but you and your companion will still be able to enjoy the beautiful outdoors.”
Jimin frowns. “How -“ Somehow, all he’s able to picture is some kind of garage where everything is stuffed in and just two lawn chairs and dragged out onto the grass.
“It’s available for inspection now, sir. But we don’t have a lot of time as we need to confirm the booking at least two hours before the actual event in order to make preparations.”
Jimin’s eyes widen and he lunges after Taehyung, grabbing his hand and checking his watch. “It’s almost five pm! I was supposed to have the venue from seven pm anyway!”
“You are an esteemed client, Mr Park, so we can make that exception. Our staff is very efficient and can help you -“
He resists the urge to scream over the phone at someone who, at the end of the day, is just doing his job.
“I’ll be there,” he says quickly and hangs up. “Okay, I’m heading out,” he adds to nobody in particular, but Taehyung follows him into his room anyway.
“Everything okay?” he asks, stopping at the doorway.
“No. Actually, you know what? Yes,” says Jimin firmly, shedding his clothes and throwing on the outfit he was planning to wear (comfortable jeans and a Louis Vuitton jacket, plus a Gucci hoodie of his that Sooah loves to snuggle in). “It will be okay because there’s really no other option.”
“Look, I’m sure it’ll work out fine, but… I mean, I’m sure Sooah will appreciate the thought no matter how it goes,” he reasons.
“You know, I’m sure she will,” agrees Jimin hurriedly, “but I need this to be more than just a thought. Okay? Because this is - this is -” He struggles for a few moments before giving up. “This is Kim Sooah,” he says finally.
Taehyung looks like he wants to say something but instead he simply nods. “Okay, go, then. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Yeah - can you bring the champagne down there once it gets delivered?” he asks immediately, rushing out of the room and gathering his phone and keys. “The food and cake will come there directly - hang on, I need to check out -” He fishes out his phone and makes a call, tucking the phone in between his ear and shoulder.
They reach the living room and Jimin scans it to see Hoseok, Seokjin and Jungkook in front of the television, sharing a large bowl of popcorn while a football match goes on.
“Jungkook, I’m taking your car.” Jimin grabs a bunch of keys from the side table and, without waiting for a response, dashes out of the front door.
The park coordinator may not have been completely wrong; the rain is already at a steady speed, enough that most people have pulled out their umbrellas and the roads are starting to get jammed. He drives to the park anyway, a little unsettled at seeing it completely empty this time of day, leaves the Gucci hoodie in the backseat and runs inside towards the office.
The coordinator seems to be waiting for him. “Right this way, Mr Park,” he says immediately, barely giving Jimin time to run a hand through his damp blond hair before ushering him out under a black umbrella.
“This is the alternative?” Jimin asks a few minutes later, staring up at the thick cloth separating them from the rain.
“Yes - now I know it’s not probably what you pictured but it’s the best we can do in such short notice, Mr Park.”
“Actually, this is exactly what I pictured,” he murmurs, heart sinking. It does look like a makeshift garage in front of them, like something he would’ve planned back when they were in high school, using a bedsheet for a screen and a Bluetooth speaker for an innovative night out, with instant ramen and cokes. He’d hoped that now, all these years later, they were finally due for an upgrade - but the universe clearly had other plans.
Okay, Jimin. Stop whining. Just think. He takes a deep breath and turns around, wincing a little and trying to ignore how the rain is getting louder by the minute.
“Okay, so it’s… five-thirty,” he says. “Sooah will be here by seven which gives me just enough time to follow up on the food and drinks. What?” he asks, when the coordinator’s assistant looks confused.
“Well, it’s - it’s just -” She stutters, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Won’t the food get ruined, sir?”
“Why will it -” Jimin stops, closing his eyes. The rain. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath.
“Sir, we can arrange for a table next to the screen under the roof so you and your friend can come up and take your food and go back outside -” He stops abruptly when he sees Jimin’s incredulous expression. “I mean… it could be like a buffet,” he reasons in a small voice.
“It won’t be anything like a buffet. Sir, come on -” He sighs, at his wit’s end and getting anxious. “Can’t we get - I don’t know - something stronger up there to protect us from the rain? The screen, projector, electronics - all of that is going to be under the roof. The sound is going to be compromised because of the rain anyway - can’t we just get a slightly stronger thing above our heads so the food doesn’t have to move, too?”
The coordinator starts to say something sympathetic when Jimin’s phone rings. He apologises and picks it up immediately. “Taehyung! Come to the other end of the park - no, not that side. The side by the exit parking lot.” He stays on the phone for another minute until he spots Taehyung jogging up the path with an umbrella in one hand and a plain tote bag in the other that Jimin assumes contains the champagne.
“Thank God,” he sighs, shoving his phone back in his pocket as Taehyung reaches him.
“Okay, listen -” Taehyung holds up a hand. “Don’t freak out. But I think when you gave the liquor store your address, you gave them your apartment and not the dorm. But - “ He says loudly, preempting Jimin’s heart stopping in his chest, “I got this as a backup,” he says, retrieving a bottle of Chandon from the bag.
It’s not what Jimin had chosen but the fact that something has found a solution is more than he could hope for right now. In a moment of emotion, he hugs Taehyung tightly.
“Alright,” says Taehyung gruffly, patting him on the back. “Come on now, you have things to do, Jimin. Oh, speaking of which,” he adds as Jimin steps away, “Sooah called me a little while ago. I don’t know if she was looking for hints or what, but I told her you’re working really hard at it.”
“You did?” Jimin can’t decide if this is a good thing. “Alright. Well. Got to get it done, then, I guess.”
“It’ll be great. Don’t worry.”
There’s a clap of thunder and they both jump. Taehyung opens his mouth, clearly looking for words of comfort but eventually gives up. Giving Jimin another pat on the shoulder, he hurries away in the rain, the umbrella barely helping anymore.
—
Stepping out of a hot shower, steam still rising from the bathroom behind him, Seokjin ties a towel around his waist and enters his room. The moment he does, the first thing he sees is the view outside the window, with rain lashing down the city. He stares at it, horridly fascinated, when he remembers.
He sits on his bed, glad he’s in the warmth of the dorm, and makes a phone call.
“Hey,” he says, glad she picked up on the second ring. “How are you?”
“Fine,” says Seulgi, but she doesn’t sound curt. “You?”
“I’m okay. What about you? Are you still at Big Hit?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Uh, have you looked outside?”
“Oh. That.” Seulgi sighs. “Yeah, it looks pretty bad. But I still have work to get done so I’m stuck here for a while no matter what. All I can do is hope the rain stops sometime tonight.”
“The forecast says it’s going to go on really late,” points out Seokjin, peering out of the window uneasily again. “I can barely see the river from my window anymore. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get home now before it gets worse. I can pick you up,” he offers.
“No. I mean - no, thank you,” she amends, her voice softening a bit. “I told you, I have a ton of work to get done. There are still two whole meetings to go - I don’t think I’ll be able to leave before ten, no matter what.”
“But it’ll get actively dangerous to commute in worse rain than this,” he argues. “The company should care about an employee’s wellbeing over a meeting.”
She scoffs. “You work for the same company, Seokjin,” she reminds him. “How many times have they prioritised your wellbeing over a work commitment?”
To this, Seokjin has no answer. “You have a point,” he admits grudgingly, and is heartened to hear her chuckle. “Okay, but can you tell me whenever your meetings do end? I’ll pick you up - and I’ll drop you to your place,” he clarifies quickly. “If that’s what you want.”
Seulgi doesn’t reply for a few seconds. “Seokjin,” she says carefully, but then sighs. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I don’t know if…”
He waits for her to continue but when she doesn’t, he speaks. “Look, I’m not trying anything,” he says, turning away from the window and feeling the same guilt he’s felt around her for weeks now. “But these are special circumstances. I mean, I don’t know if you have a window anywhere around you, but it is insane out there right now.”
“Alright,” she says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. “I’ll let you know. Chances are, the rain will stop.”
“Let me know either way.” Seokjin waits until she hangs up, not really sure what he was expecting from this exchange. Seulgi wasn’t off base at all; apart from the rain, the constant nagging guilt at putting her through this period of doubt definitely played a part.
He isn’t any closer to figuring out his stance with Nari. Seulgi feels far away, farther away than a girlfriend should. It’s a mess and all he can do now is wait.
The rain pours harder, the sky darkening and thunder deafening. Jungkook is lazing around the house, doing laundry and other chores while Taehyung is video calling a friend who’s working abroad. Hoseok is a ball of nervous energy, mentioning more than once that he hopes Chaeyoung is okay in the storm and safe at home.
Seokjin just waits, until a couple of hours later, Seulgi finally lets him know.
Seulgi [20:00]
Hey. So my second meeting hasn’t even started yet and I think the company has finally caught on to the situation outside. Apparently they got a government advisory about the storm and that it’s only going to get worse.
Seokjin [20:01]
So… what? They’re not letting you leave?
Seulgi [20:02]
They’re advising us not to. And honestly, I don’t think anyone should be outside in this rain. Apparently parts of the city are losing electricity, too - another team was supposed to have a work dinner in Hongdae but it got cancelled because the whole restaurant shut down.
Seokjin [20:03]
How will you get home then?
Seulgi [20:03]
They’ve set up rooms here - I think they’ve repurposed the resting rooms that the idols use on the top floor for the rest of us mere mortals. It’s not ideal but it’s better than trying to go out there.
Seokjin bites his lip. It sounds rather like she’s made a decision, albeit grudgingly, and in typical Seulgi fashion, has told him subtly not to bother coming over. It’s hard to argue when she hasn’t said it in so many words, and even harder to justify an argument while being able to hear the wind outside.
“What are you guys planning to do for the rest of the night?” Seokjin asks, looking up at the others.
“Not sure,” answers Taehyung, getting up from where he was lying on the sofa and walking towards the kitchen. “Lazy night in, I think. Jungkook has a date, though,” he adds, grinning.
Hoseok whistles teasingly as Jungkook chuckles, his ears going slightly red. “I do but it’s raining so hard. I’ll probably have to cancel,” he says, giving Taehyung a sheepish smile that Seokjin doesn’t fully understand.
“Okay, so that’s two. Hobi?” Seokjin taps his watch. “What about you?”
“Oh, uh…” Hoseok shakes his head, looking a bit distracted. “Not sure. Why?”
“Just - just curious. Seulgi was just saying that there’s an advisory about the storm floating around and Hongdae has lost power or something, so in case any of you have plans…”
Hoseok’s face goes slack. “Hongdae lost power?”
“Well, one restaurant in Hongdae lost power as far as I know -”
“Chaeyoung lives near Hongdae,” mutters Hoseok, tapping furiously on his phone before putting it to his ear. “Sooah is out with Jimin so she’s probably alone…” He taps his foot impatiently for a few seconds before swearing. “She isn’t picking up.”
“Maybe it’s a signal issue,” Jungkook starts to say, but Hoseok is already off the sofa and grabbing a jacket. “Wait, where are you going?”
“To check on Chaeyoung,” he answers bluntly, rummaging for his car keys in the bowl on the mantle and dashing out of the apartment without any further explanation, the door slamming shut behind him.
Seokjin’s heart races; it’s a gale out there, but this is a sign. Chaeyoung must matter that much to Hoseok, if the decision was that quick for him. He checks his watch again to see it’s a quarter past eight. He traces the familiar route in his mind, calculating how much longer it will probably take him to get there than the average day.
Something clicks and he hurries up off the couch as well, pulling his shoes on before the other two even seem to realise that something has happened.
“Wait, where are you -”
Taehyung is cut off by the front door slamming shut for the second time. Seokjin hurries down the hall, checking his pocket for his phone and keys as he takes the elevator to the basement car parking.
If he had been amazed by the rain from inside the three storey dorm in Hannam Hill, he wasn’t ready for the real thing. The moment he pulls his car out of the parking lot and above ground, the sound of the rain hitting the roof of his car is like gunshots. For a moment, he considers reversing and doing this another day but the fact of the matter is that today is the day.
In the distance, he sees what could be another set of headlights turning down a path and out of the main gates that he guesses is Hoseok. Making up his mind, he heads out, trying to drive as carefully as possible in the severely compromised visibility of the streets.
The roads are largely empty save for buses, some taxis and cars that seem to be desperate to get done with the night. Despite knowing the route like the back of his hand, Seokjin plugs in his phone and turns on the map in case there are road blockages, and starts driving.
He has no idea what Big Hit can possibly do when it comes to building any sort of nightly camp for its employees in the office. All these years, his attempt has remained to stay as far away from that artificially lit building as he possibly can, preferring to cling on to the vestiges of normal life outside of it.
Namjoon will know. The answer comes easily to him and even though the leader is on holiday, Seokjin decides this is enough of an emergency to disturb him during it. He calls him and waits, still driving through the rain as best as he can, the roads flowing and reflecting the street lamps, the sheets of rain falling with a vengeance.
Namjoon doesn’t answer, possibly because it's his last few hours of vacation. Swearing uncharacteristically, Seokjin dials the next best person. The line crackles and a woman’s voice, a bit far away, sounds abruptly before another takes its place.
“Hello?”
“Yoongi,” says Seokjin gratefully, swerving down a lane and wincing as he splashes a row of bikes parked along the side of the road. “Listen - have you ever seen the resting rooms on the top floor of the company building?”
There are sounds at the other end, of similar rain and splashing water. The woman’s voice floats again, a soft “Shit” in the background before Yoongi speaks.
“What?”
“The resting rooms on the top floor,” repeats Seokjin urgently, honking at what he thinks might be another car coming the opposite way. The side mirrors are completely useless by now. “Have you seen them? What are they like?”
“Oh, that? The ones for the idols?” There’s a screeching sound on the other end and Yoongi swears this time. “They’re fine, I guess. I’ve crashed there a couple times after all-nighters.”
“Really?” Relief washes over Seokjin but before he can say anything further, the voice at the other pierces the air.
“Yoongi - that’s a tree!”
“Fuck!” Another screeching sound, a loud one, and then silence. “Uh… hyung,” says Yoongi, sounding uncertain. “I’m going to have to call you back.”
The line goes silent but Seokjin has what he wants. He just hopes Yoongi is okay and makes a mental note to call him in a little while as he pulls onto Hangang-daero, passing building after building - museums, a school, the ramen joint where he and Seulgi had first gone to almost a year ago… he keeps going, barely able to see the flyover in front of him through the rain. His wipers work overtime as he passes the last building before the bridge, seeing the company logo flash momentarily in his rearview mirror before it disappears.
The areas off the main road are darker somehow, the roads narrower, trees thicker and the rain seeming even more stifling. But the closer Seokjin gets, the more he’s convinced that he’s made the right decision. He parks the car in his regular spot and, holding his hood over his head, sprints across the street as the raindrops pelt him until he enters the building, already fairly wet.
He doesn’t dither; running upstairs to the first floor, he knocks on the door, thankful that there’s a sliver of light underneath. Behind him, the storm rages on. As he waits, Seokjin turns to look outside the window in the corridor, seeing small gusts of wind and trees moving with the force. Twenty seconds and his socks and shoes are drenched; he slides open the window slightly and immediately backs away, the wind and droplets hitting him instantly.
The sound of the door opening is the only thing louder to him than the rain. He turns around, his heart hammering.
“Seokjin?” Nari frowns, in a college hoodie and faded jeans, thick socks on her feet. Her hair falls unbrushed down her shoulders and she’s clutching a sheaf of papers in one hand. “What are you doing here?”
He wants to smile; it’s automatic, so he does. Taking a step forward, he thanks his stars he decided to leave the dorm, rain be damned.
“Hi, Nari,” he says, watching her forehead clear just a little bit. “Happy birthday.”
—
Thanks for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)
Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.
Chapter warnings: Smut…………. DDAY Yoongi. Be warned. Here we are, my loves! The final chapter of this sweet sweet series that has made so many of you fall in love with these two. I can't even start to tell you all how surprised I am at how this series turned out, how invested all of you became. We will definitely miss them! In other words, I know this kind of fic was very different from my usual content and I was a little nervous as to how it would be accepted and, especially, if I've done it justice. I don't think any other series will ever be as precious and special as this one, so I just have to thank every single one of you that read this story, and a special big fat kiss for all of those who interacted, sent asks and comments about it. See you in the next one!
A/N: Phrases in italic during the dialogs mean the character is using sign language!
WC: 6.4k
[Membership]
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“Am I boring you?”
Jimin’s sweet voice made you look at him with wide eyes, so used to not hearing when people talked to you that you thought this might be the case. The man was sitting next to you on the couch of Yoongi’s dressing room and while he was a good company, someone easy to talk to, your heart and mind were somewhere else.
“Not at all, Jimin-ssi.” you shook your head, always surprised about hearing your own voice. “Sorry, I was just–”
“Drooling over your man?” Jimin laughed, eyes almost disappearing. “I get it, we’ve all been there.”
It’s been two weeks since your life started again.
Two weeks since you were given 77% of the hearing on your right ear back. It didn’t mean your whole life changed in the blink of an eye, nor that you became the same person you were when you first lost your hearing, but it was a start. More than that, it was a new chance for you to learn things again.
You could hear music, you heard your parents’ voice again. You heard Ari and found out what she sounded like. You heard your own laugh and Yoongi–
As if just now understanding what Jimin said, you stared at him with the rise of an eyebrow: “What do you mean you’ve all–”
“Baby?”
Well, fuck.
No matter how many times you heard Yoongi’s voice, or the sweet tone in which he called you by that term of endearment, you couldn’t get used to it. You had your breath knocked out of you each time.
His tone was so low and deep, words dragged and a little scratchy. It was mind blowing how someone so kind, who looked so soft, could have such a raspy and rough voice.
When you managed to look up, you knew your face was burning and your insides were squirming with butterflies. It didn’t help that Yoongi knew the effect he had on you, loving every second of it.
Jimin was saying something next to you, probably a tease aimed at you and your boyfriend, but your brain effectively shut him out when the corner of Yoongi’s lips raised in a side smirk that should sound like a growl. You were about to go feral when he offered you a hand to help you stand up.
“Hyung–” Jimin tried again, but was cut off as Yoongi sent him a glare.
“Go wait outside, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi wasn’t harsh in his words, but his tone left no space for arguments. Then he looked over his shoulder and ordered: “All of you can leave, too.”
You didn’t look past Yoongi to see who was still in the room with you, completely hypnotized by the man you loved. His hair was messier than usual, framing his face in tiny waves that would no doubt be curly with sweat by the end of the night. The chains around his neck were thick and heavy, his eye makeup was subtle, but gave him a dangerous edge that was enough to make you melt.
Yoongi used his hold on your hand to pull you up from the couch, your small heels doing nothing to make your heights any closer. Your body went to his like following the pull of a magnet, chest pressing against his as your free hand found his shoulder.
“Cat got your tongue?” Yoongi teased you and you knew he was living for it. “It’s only us now, no need to be shy.”
“Not shy.” you said, oh so well articulated. If only you didn’t hear the coy in your own voice. “Just… You.”
“Me?” he repeated with a low chuckle that you felt between your legs. The menace that he was, Yoongi tilted his head, licked his lips and dropped his voice impossibly lower. “What about me?”
You opened and closed your mouth to say something, but your brain was nothing but static and buzzing noises. And there comes the dangerous smirk again–
“Oh, fuck it.”
You pulled your hand from his grasp and all but shoved it into his hair, grabbing the strands to keep his face in place as you raised yourself on the balls of your feet to reach his mouth with yours. You felt his smirk grow against your lips as Yoongi gave you two seconds to have your way before taking control.
One of his hands went to the back of your neck to tilt your head sideways so he could push his tongue into your mouth and kiss you hard. His other arm was around your waist and squeezing your hip, making you bow your back as you tried to keep up with his toe-curling kiss that let you taste the alcohol on lips.
Yoongi flicked his tongue teasingly, in slow, wet drags that made you press your thighs together and the pressure between your legs made you moan into Yoongi’s mouth. The sound was still very new to you and it mortified you every time, making you pull away from his mouth with wide eyes.
“Don’t act so innocent now, you make noises much dirtier than this.” Yoongi mumbled, licking between his lips to clean off your saliva.
“Yoongi.” you groaned, hiding your face in his chest. “Don’t do this now.”
“Mhmm, I’ll stop, but just because I have to go.” he told you with arms around you. “But later? You’re gonna let me hear you.”
“Yoongi!” you complained, feeling your panties sticking to your middle.
Your boyfriend had more he wanted to say, you could tell but his sharp, cat eyes. But the knock on the door was enough for you to know that you really did have no time left. It physically hurt you to have to let go of Yoongi, but you were also excited about seeing him on stage.
“You got your earmuffs, right?” Yoongi asked you with a hand cradling your cheek.
You mumbled: “They make me look like a child.”
“You won’t have to wear them forever.” he assured you, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “But you need them tonight, okay?”
“I know, I’m just being a baby.” you took a long sigh, taking a tiny step back. It might be out of habit, or maybe just a sweet thing between the two of you that would stick, but you still used your hands to sign: “You got this, baby.”
Yoongi smiled, pre-concert jitters clear in the way he tried to pretend everything was normal. As the second pair of knocks hit the door, your boyfriend kissed your lips and led you outside, only letting go of your hand when you had to go your separate ways.
Jimin was waiting for you, leaning against a wall. His bucket hat was low in his head and a face mask was covering half of his face. You could still see his tiny eyes as he smiled at you, offering his arm for you to hold.
A couple of security guards led the two of you through the many corridors, elevators and stairs that took you from the backstage area, to the VIP booth. Jimin made sure you had the concert ear protection over your head, which was meant to keep you safe through the loud music and screaming of the thousands of passionate fans.
By the time you made it to the front of the booth, Yoongi was already on stage, jumping around and rapping into his mic as the sea of fans headbanged in the rhythm of the song he was playing.
Even with your good ear muffled, you could still hear everything around you. It did help that Yoongi sat with you, a week ago, and showed you all of his songs so that you’d get familiar with them by the time of his concert. You were absolutely shocked with the level of talent that he had and you didn’t spare praises as he showed you demos and told you heartbreaking stories behind his lyrics.
On the third song, you were already dancing and jumping.
When you looked at Jimin, to say something about Yoongi’s growling into the mic, you saw his phone was now aimed at you, and not at the man on stage.
“What are you doing?” you asked him, probably a little louder than was necessary.
“Filming you!” he shrugged as if it was obvious. “If I don’t send this to the group chat, I’ll be kicked out of Bangtan!”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” you laughed, but still waved at the camera.
“Hang on, I want to show you something.” Jimin spoke more to himself, closing out of his phone and pushing it into his pocket.
He stood next to you, scanning the crowd as if he was looking for something in the middle of the sea of people. It didn’t take him long to point in a direction, excitedly trying to show it to you.
“What am I looking at?” you squinted your eyes, as if that would make you see better.
“Okay, hang on–you see that red emergency light?” Jimin pointed again and you nodded once you located it. “Move your eyes to the right–”
“You mean that woman on top of the thing?” you caught the sore-eye in the first floor, the thing that stood out the most. A woman dressed in all black, just like Yoongi’s staff members, but she wasn’t facing the stage, she was facing the crowd and– “Jimin. Is she…”
“She’s a sign language interpreter.” he nodded, a friendly palm on the middle of your back. “Hyung hired one for every venue, so whoever needs it can enjoy the concert a little better.”
“I don’t even know what to say.” at this point you were trying not to cry.
You knew Yoongi hadn’t done this for you, not when he had so much trust that the procedure would work on you. But maybe it was because of you that he thought about things like that now, not only trying to make changes in his life so you could fit in more comfortably next to him, but changing the way he saw the world.
And it made you extremely happy and proud of Yoongi for thinking about his fans and audibly impaired people who could benefit from having an interpreter in the crowd.
“Hyung is the best, you can say it.” Jimin was obviously proud of his brother, too.
“Yes, he– wait a minute, what did you mean ‘we’ve all been there’?!”
“I don't remember the last time I had so much fun.” Jimin said as the doors of the elevator closed and the three of you were alone.
He’d removed the face mask in the car and you’d done the same to the protection ear covers, while all Yoongi did was sip on the rest of his whisky cup.
“I was that good, huh?” despite looking spent after an almost three hour concert, Yoongi still had that cocky aura about him.
“I don't mean you, hyung. I'm talking about her.” the younger man scoffed, tipping his head to point at you. “It was awesome. You got a feisty one there.”
You were absolutely mortified by that accusation, which made Yoongi laugh and pull you closer to him. His back was against the elevator wall and his arms circled your waist, pressing your back to his front.
“Jimin! You promised you wouldn’t tell him!” you nagged, arms crossed against your chest.
“Wait, did something happen?” Yoongi wanted to know while you shot daggers at Jimin, but he completely ignored it.
“I thought she was gonna fling herself into the crowd to slap a fan.” the man you thought was your friend didn’t even wait to throw you under the bus.
“Listen okay, the girl was yelling dramatically and it was annoying everyone around her!” your voice got whinier, you noted, trying to defend your own honor.
You couldn’t tell if Yoongi was really listening or not, one of his hands resting on your hip to pull you backwards to press– Oh, fuck, that was his cock rubbing against your ass.
“She cursed the girl’s fifth generation, all using sign language.” Jimin was having the time of his life, laughing so much you thought he might fall on the floor from it. “It was an incredible experience.”
Yoongi’s chuckle was delivered against your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. You couldn’t help but press back against him as you heard the lazy drag of his voice: “I didn't know you were like that.”
“I'm not.” your face wash flushed and you groaned. “And the girl didn't even notice, so it's fine.”
“What was she yelling to get you so worked up?” Yoongi asked with his mouth dangerously close to the spot on your neck that made you whine.
You didn’t want to reply, but knowing Jimin and seeing his devil smile, you had no other choice than to say: “‘Yoongi marry me’.”
It was enough for Jimin to laugh again and Yoongi squeezed you just a little more, rocking his hips just once, just to tease you with his hardening cock. You were going a little crazy there, on the way to the last floor of the New York City hotel you were all staying at. The elevator felt stuffy, embarrassment threatening to make your face catch on fire.
Meanwhile, Yoongi didn’t care about groping you in front of his best friend. Jimin was either classy enough to pretend not to notice, or he really didn’t care.
The ding! that announced you reached your destination made you let out a breath of relief, but Yoongi held you in place to make sure Jimin got out first.
“You guys want to hang out?” Jimin invited, walking ahead of you down the hall. “I’m thinking about ordering some new york pizza. Have you ever had it, Yn?”
You were shaking your head and Yoongi didn’t answer his friend, waiting for you to reply. You could tell that your boyfriend was more interested in something else at the moment, with the way he was all over your back, but he would still do whatever you chose to.
Unfortunately for Jimin, you couldn’t wait to get Yoongi alone.
“Maybe tomorrow?” you offered sheepishly, feeling Yoongi’s rumble of approval behind you.
“Fineeeee, you guys can go fuck and I’ll call Taetae.” Jimin said it as if it was the most natural thing to say, adding: “Just remember I’m on the same floor and keep it quiet.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Yoongi nosed the outside of your ear, making you tremble.
Jimin yelled goodnight before entering his room and Yoongi simply pulled you into yours. You had no idea when Yoongi unlocked it, didn’t see or feel him using the keycard, but you stopped caring about it as soon as you were being pressed against the door.
“I had a lot of fun today,” Yoongi told you while caging you in between you and the wood. “But I do miss having you to myself all day.”
“Good thing we’ll be living together soon enough, then.” you grinned, hands touching his stomach and moving up to his chest.
“If your sister lets me take you, that is.” your boyfriend laughed and, even if that was a possibility, you didn’t want to talk about your family right now.
“Mhm, weird. I was under the impression you’re not the type to ask for permission.” your hands got hold of his chain, fingers slipping underneath it to pull him closer. “Thought you’d just take what you want.”
Yoongi’s laugh turned into something a little darker as he rested a palm on the space next to you on the door, the other hand coming to the base of your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but the touch alone was burning hot making you part your lips.
“If I take what I want,” he started lowly, lips ghosting yours, allowing you to smell the faint whiskey on his breath. “You won't be able to walk tomorrow.”
You were rendered speechless from what Yoongi was alluding to, and you knew he wasn't all talk. In fact, after watching him on stage, sweating, growling and commanding an arena full of people that didn't even speak his language, you knew just how much power he held.
And you wanted nothing more than to give in and submit.
You just didn't know how to ask for it.
Lucky for you, Yoongi could read you like a book, noticing the rise and fall of your chest, the glassy look in your eyes, the tiny movement of your hips as you tried to get closer to him. Your fingers were flexing around his chain, silently begging for everything he'd be willing to give you.
That's when his hand went from your throat to your jaw and Yoongi pressed a hard kiss against your mouth. His lips moved slowly, coaxing you to do the same, seducing you into parting your mouth for his tongue to slip inside and find yours.
You were already breathing erratically, one hand finding its way into his hair to drag your nails against his scalp. That had Yoongi pressing harder against you, one of his legs slipping between yours.
As if your body had a mind of its own, a very dirty mind at that, you parted your legs wider and rolled your hips down until you were grinding on Yoongi’s thigh. The material of his pants felt warm and rough against your bare legs and your thin underwear did nothing to stop your wetness from staining the fabric.
Yoongi’s hand moved from your jaw to your neck, just as he tilted your head at an angle that allowed him to deepen the kiss. Fingers found your pulse points on the sides of your throat, pressing down until you felt deliciously dizzy, just for a few seconds, just until you were whimpering.
He smirked into the kiss, licking your tongue with his as that same hand moved down to your chest and he squeezed one of your tits over your dress.
“Yoongi…” you moaned around the word, pulling from the kiss as you needed to catch Your breath. “Tonight is about you.”
He chuckled, the way it sent tiny shocks straight to your pussy. “Making you feel good is about me.”
“But I want to make you feel good.” you couldn’t call this a complaint, but you pushed your body off the door and Yoongi took a small step back, jut to give you breathing room.
“You think I don't feel good?” he challenged, reaching for your hand and bringing your palm to his crotch.
Yoongi was hard, ever since the elevator ride. Maybe since the car, when he got to see you again. He let go of your wrist to let you decide if you wanted to continue your argument or let him kiss you again, which you appreciated as you tried to make your brain work a little faster.
Your fingers traced his length, palming the erection that felt painful, stuck inside tight jeans. That couldn't feel better than what you had in mind, despite the small hums coming out from Yoongi’s mouth as you rubbed your palm on the tip.
“Come with me.”
You said, reluctantly letting go of his cock in order to hold his hand and walk deeper into the hotel room. The two of you kicked out of your shoes and Yoongi took off his socks before you were even pushing the door of the penthouse suite open.
The lights were already on and the bed was made; soft and lux white sheets that didn't have a single crease. The furthest wall was make of floor to ceiling windows that showed the beautiful New York City lights.
Instead of worrying if people in the nearby buildings could see you, you led Yoongi to the bed and he followed your lead wordlessly. Your boyfriend laid down in the middle of the bed, back propped up by pillows, legs spread out invitingly.
You crawled to him, throwing a leg over his hips to straddle him. Yoongi’s hands went immediately to your ass, guiding you and positioning you on top of him so that your pussy was right over his cock. You threw your hair over one shoulder to keep it away from your face, rolling your hips and grinding down as you watched Yoongi’s face.
His lips Were swollen and red, slightly parted as your humping provided him pressure. His lids were lowered and pupils blown.
“Not so bad, huh?” it was your turn to tease, even if you sounded a little breathless.
“Can't say I have any complaints.” he shrugged, almost nonchalantly.
And then Yoongi was sitting up to reach you, mouth going straight to your neck as you sat on his lap. Fast fingers found your thin dress straps to push them off your shoulders, down and off your arms, revealing your braless tits.
You pushed them together with your arms, making them appear more plump. Yoongi groaned, all raspy and sexy, before taking them in his hands.
His fucking hands.
So veiny, with long fingers, short filed nails and–
“Fuck–!” you cursed as Yoongi’s thumbs rolled your hard nipples, surprising yourself with your own voice and biting your lips to stop another moan.
It made Yoongi pinch one of your nipples a little hard, which had you opening your eyes wide with parted, surprised lips.
“I don't care what Jimin said, I don't care if this whole floor hears you.” Yoongi said as he started to kiss your collarbones. “No holding back, let them be jealous of how good you're being fucked.”
“Yoongi, please–”
You didn’t know what you were asking for, holding onto his shoulders as you desperately moved your hips to rub against him. Your head tipped back with each drag of his clothed cock against your clit and the new space allowed Yoongi to draw kisses down your chest until his mouth found a nipple.
When his lips wrapped around the swollen nub, you didn’t hold back your own noises anymore. You weren’t screaming by any means, but you were letting Yoongi know how good it felt when he dragged his tongue in circles around your nipple.
You watched with half closed eyes as Yoongi kissed his way to your other breast, parting his mouth to let his tongue slip and circle your other nipple with his tongue. You were frowning in pleasure, clenching and breathing hard.
You wanted this man. You loved this man.
You needed to feel more of him, so you reached for the hem of his shirt –one that still smelled heavenly of his post-concert sweat–, pulling it over his head unceremoniously.
“Someone’s greedy.” Yoongi laughed at your haste, hands coming back to hold your hips after you pulled the shirt away.
“Sorry.” you giggled, throwing the shirt away and gently pushing his hair out of his face. “You just…”
You cut yourself off with a groan, no words strong enough to explain to Yoongi how much you wanted him right now. But actions spoke louder than words, sometimes. With one hand on his chest, you pushed Yoongi down to lay against the pillows, leaning forward to follow his body. Pressing your chests together, you pressed your mouth against his to kiss him again.
Yoongi’s hands were running up and down your naked back, pushing your dress even lower on your body. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, dragging your teeth against the soft flesh before letting it fall back into place. Your boyfriend moaned raspily, lifting his hips to search for that same friction as before.
But you wanted to give him something better.
Your lips found his chin and jaw, continuing to kiss down his body. You covered his chest, ribs and stomach, before making your way between his legs and sitting on your knees. As your fingers found the button and zipper of his pants, you took a moment to stare at the beautiful man in front of you.
Yoongi was perfect, inside and out, in the purest form of the word. He was simply, genuinely, breathtaking. And he looked at you the same way.
“What?” he asked with a tiny, shy smile. “You’re looking at me funny.”
“I’m looking at you like you’re the prettiest man in the world.” you corrected.
Yoongi scoffed. “Pretty?”
“Handsome, gorgeous,” you rolled your eyes, lowering your face to kiss under his belly button once you opened his pants. “So fucking sexy.”
“You look pretty good right now.” his head was tilted as he watched you with wanting eyes.
“I can look better.” you told him with a small shrug, sitting up to take your dress off the rest of the way.
Before Yoongi could say anything else, you went for his pants again, this time pulling them off his slim legs. His underwear was next to go, freeing his cock with a heavy bounce.
Looking this good while completely naked was a feature few people in the world could pull off as well as Yoongi. The bde that he showcased on stage was backed up pretty damn well.
You leaned down again, taking Yoongi’s cock in your hand and raising it to line up with your mouth. You weren't overconfident at all, but you liked to think that you were a lot more comfortable now than you were the first times you did this with your boyfriend.
And Yoongi never had any pointers or complaints so you must be doing something right.
His tip was slightly darker in color than the rest of him, glistening with pre-cum, throbbing in your small hand. You opened your mouth and brought your tongue out, using it to lick around the head. Yoongi hissed and arched his back a little, giving into your teases.
You couldn’t help but watch his brows furrow and nose scrunch as his eyes closed when you wrapped your lips around him. Overall, you only had a little over half of your hearing on one side, so you’d never be able to know what Yoongi sounded like exactly right, but you highly doubted it could get much better than this.
His moans alone were sending jolts between your legs, making you squeeze your thighs a little harder as you sucked more of him into your mouth. When you were halfway down his length, the tip tickling the back of your throat, Yoongi raised his upper body on his elbow.
You looked up with your eyes slightly watery, questioning silently if you were doing something wrong.
“You were right.” he started lowly, using his free hand to hold the back of your neck. “You do look better with that pretty mouth full of my cock.”
Your eyes fluttered with the praise and you couldn’t help but swallow hard, making Yoongi groan. His hips twitched at their own accord, pushing him deeper into your mouth. It made your eyes burn and your jaw ache, so you forced yourself to relax enough to take him deeper again.
“That’s it, go easy– Fuck, baby.” his hand moved to the back of your head so he could guide you to bob up and down on his cock. “Can you swallow like that again? Oh, shit, like that.”
Your lips were tight against his cock and your hand used the spit coming out of your mouth to squeeze whatever didn’t fit inside. You pushed yourself lower, holding your breath as the tip slipped down your throat and you swallowed like he asked you to, causing the filthiest moans to come out of his mouth.
When your free hand slipped down to cup Yoongi’s balls, he jerked and pulled your hair to get you off of his cock.
A string of spit was connecting your lips to his tip and you pouted, asking with a scratchy voice: “What’s wrong? You like it when I play with them.”
“I also like to cum in your mouth, but not today.” he somewhat explained, breathing heavily.
You took Yoongi’s cock in your hand, stroking it slowly enough to get the edge off, but still flicked your wrist under the tip every now and then so he could still feel good. He grabbed the back of your neck to pull your body to lay on top of his, kissing you again while you still pumped his cock.
The kiss was sloppy and breathy, neither of you really focusing on it.
“Where are you going to cum, then?” you asked with a small bite on his jaw, speeding up the movements of your hand and making more pre-cum leak out.
Yoongi moaned: “Inside you.”
“Oh, fuck.” you whined, hand slowing down a little. “Really?”
“What–” it took Yoongi a few heavy blinks for him to realize what he just said, or at least how you interpreted it. “Oh, no no–”
“But what if you did?” you asked in a small voice, letting go of his cock to lay half on his body, half on his side. “We haven’t been with anyone else. And I’m on the pill.”
“It would be the first time we did that.” his brain was working a little slow, but you could tell Yoongi was trying to be responsible.
“We do have things to celebrate.” you shrugged, but didn’t push it. “Do you want to?”
“Do you want to?”
You could be here all night, you realized. Yoongi worried too much about making you comfortable around him, or with anything he did. It was always like this, even when you were friends. That is, if the two of you were ever friends to begin with.
So maybe you had to play a little dirty from time to time.
Your fingertips were dancing on his lower stomach as you mouthed at his jaw, whispering:
“Want your cum dripping out of my tight little pussy, Yoongi.” your words affected even yourself, making you press your sweaty body against his, lighting up a new fire on your belly. When your fingers wrapped around his cock again, you whined: “Want you to fuck me like this.”
“Fucking come here.”
Yoongi growled as if he hadn’t done this all night already and suddenly you understood why that girl was yelling ‘Yoongi marry me’ so often. He flipped you on the bed, so you were laying on your back and he was on top of you, but he did it so fast that it made you let out a tiny huff.
Worried for just a second, Yoongi touched the side of your head gently, to make sure that your external hearing aid that was hidden by your hair was still in place. His concern only made you want to fuck him harder.
“I’m okay.” you assured him, running your hands up and down his sides. “Want you.”
Yoongi leaned down to kiss your lips over and over again, distracting you as his hand found the waistband of your underwear and he pulled to make it snap against your skin. You jumped in surprise and retaliated by biting his bottom lip.
Your boyfriend was laughing as he pulled away from you just enough to help you lift your hips so he could take your underwear off, finally having you naked underneath him.
“You just keep getting prettier.” he mused, looking at your body. Any other time you would have shied away from his intense stare, but tonight you were bold. Tonight you spread your legs so he could see all of you. And, damn, did it pay off. “See? So fucking pretty…”
Yoongi’s fingers touched you softly, parting your folds, collecting your wetness and rubbing your clit in small little circles that made you a squirming and moaning mess. His eyes were watching the way his fingers played with you, bringing the digits down to your entrance to tease your hole. You clenched and gasped, raising your hips to invite him in.
“Yoongi, need you inside.” you moaned, holding onto his biceps. “Please, I need to feel you.”
You still wanted tonight to be about him, you wanted to celebrate the success of his first solo concert. But you were going a little crazy, you needed him to touch you, you craved more of that relief that only Yoongi knew how to give you.
Lucky for you, he felt the same way.
His lips were ghosting yours as he asked: “No prep?”
“I’m wet enough.” you mumbled against his lips, hands coming up to his shoulders. “Been wanting you all night.”
“Should have come backstage between outfit changes.” Yoongi told you with a nip on your lips. Two of his fingers circled your entrance again, but this time he pushed them in as if to check if you were ready to take him.
“What would you do if I had?” you asked with a gasp as you felt his fingers slip into your pussy, all the way to the knuckle.
“Could have you bend over the dressing room couch.” he said with the curving of his fingers deep inside you. “Go down on you right there.”
“Fuck, Yoongi.” you arched your back, clenching and sucking him deeper into your cunt. “Think you could make me cum before you had to go back on stage?”
“With my mouth?” his snarl was cocky, matched with the way his fingers rubbed tight circles on your sweet spot. “Could make you cum twice, baby.”
“Make me cum now.” you whined.
Never one to deny you, and knowing you’ve been neglected for too long, Yoongi started to move his fingers in and out of you at a harsh pace he knew you loved. It hit the spot every single time, making you moan and move your hips to meet his movements.
When his palm pressed down against your clit, you were done for, trembling and reaching your high around his skilled fingers. It was a quick, but strong orgasm, making you tug at his hair and flushing your whole body.
His fingers slipped out of you and you opened your eyes to see him bring the digits to his mouth to taste you. Just by watching the scene, you were ready for more.
“So I guess it’s decided I’m staying backstage tomorrow night?” you asked, loosening your grip on his sweaty locks.
“I’ll make sure to have the staff reserve a special room just for you.” Yoongi lifted an eyebrow, bringing his hand back to his cock to use whatever slick was left in his hand, plus his spit to cover his cock. “With a TV so you can still watch me when I’m on stage.”
“Can you have them find me some toys, too?” you joked, spreading your legs wider as you thought about it.
“Wanna play with yourself while watching me?” oh, Yoongi was loving this. His hand sped up and gave his cock a few long strokes before lining himself with your pussy.
“You have no idea what watching you on stage does to me.” you admitted, holding your breath as you felt the smooth cockhead pressing against your fluttering hole. “Or watching you at all.”
“Is that so?” Yoongi looked at you from above, chains dangling from his neck, wavy hair falling on the sides of his face, sweat making his skin shine.
“You’re so–” your words got cut off as Yoongi pushed his cock inside you, breaching you and stretching your walls more than his fingers previously had. All you could say now was: “You’re big, fuck you’re so big.”
“Shit, you feel tight.” Yoongi slowly pushed deeper and deeper, until he was all in. “So fucking tight.”
Yoongi laid on top of you, elbows on the mattress keeping him up and your sweaty chests pressed together. He was caging you in and there was nowhere else you'd rather be than right here.
You hugged him by the neck and raised a leg around his waist, keeping him impossibly closer to you.
“Kiss me.” you whined, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “Kiss me and fuck me.”
“Anything you want.”
Yoongi groaned against your lips as he pulled his hips back, testing for any signs of pain or discomfort on your part, but you gave him none. That gave him confidence to push back in and start a slow pace of fucking you deep and nice.
The kiss was a mess of lips and tongues, of breathing into each other and swallowing each other's moans and whimpers.
“More.” you held onto him a little harder, bringing your other leg around his hips. “Faster.”
Your moans grew louder with every snap of his hips, every stroke that hit the spot just right. It spur him on to find that good angle and keep a rhythmic pace that made you sing for him.
His face ended up between your tits, where he left open mouthed kisses and bites that would most definitely leave a mark. You couldn’t blame him when your own nails were digging lines into his pale skin.
“You like this, huh?” Yoongi asked, and all you did was nod. Your tits were bouncing on his face as he fucked into you, rolling his hips so his pelvis would hit your clit. “You like that you're the one who gets to fuck me after the concert.”
It wasn’t a question, but you still nodded. But then you added: “I like that I get to fuck you forever.”
“Claim that shit, baby.” he chuckled against the side of your tit, lips wrapping around a spot and sucking on it hard enough to bruise.
“Ah, ah, ah…” you chanted, jaw slack. “Fuck, you’re deep–”
“Gotta be deep to fill you up.” he gritted between his teeth, lines on his forehead as his pumps started to grow a little sloppy.
“Give it to me…” you begged, pressing your thighs harder against his sides, caging him in. “Cum for me, Yoongi.”
Yoongi pressed his front into yours and positioned his knees on the bed, gaining leverage to fuck you faster and harder, trembling and twitching on top of you as you both got closer and closer to that finishing line.
His face hid into your neck and you held him closer; two more long strokes and you were writhing with the new orgasm as it snuck up on you. Your vision grew blurry and your good ear was ringing as Yoongi buried himself into your cunt and stilled.
Filthy moans were delivered against your skin as you felt warmth exploding inside of you, filling you up enough to leak.
You were both breathing rapidly, sweaty, your legs were too weak to stay around his hips and your toes were curling with the aftershock.
Drunk on him, you said: “So, about that room backstage…?”
Yoongi glances briefly at Miso to his side, to see her gazing out of the window. Her side profile seems calm enough, although her arms are crossed tightly across her chest. It’s a moment before he realises the tapping sounds aren’t coming from her.
She looks at him the same time he turns to face the road.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
The question seems incongruously directed; Yoongi frowns slightly and presses his fingers against the steering wheel to stop them from tapping.
“I am,” he says deliberately. “Are you?”
She shrugs in response. It’s a long way from her demeanour earlier today, including the investors’ meeting she hadn’t been invited to but had to attend anyway, including the nepo baby whispers he’s sure she’d heard but couldn’t respond to, and the surprise dinner invitation to him from her father she clearly hadn’t expected but needed to echo while in his presence.
Any friend of Miso’s is welcome in our home.
Kang Jaesung’s lips had curled very slightly around his words but his face had stayed unreadable. A couple of years ago, Yoongi would’ve automatically accepted it to be polite. A year ago, he would’ve found it mildly smug but still would’ve said yes, just to keep an investor happy.
Today, he’d hesitated, his mind immediately trying to work out why he, of all people, had been personally invited to dinner at Miso’s father’s house, while Miso stood right next to him, her eyes going momentarily wide but her face staying still with an effort. Yoongi had met her eyes but she’d looked away instantly, almost as though her father went around inviting a stranger to dinner every day.
Except he wasn’t a stranger, and Kang Jaesung knew that. The lead producer who had forced Miso into this meeting, someone who probably didn’t even know the names of the other assistant producers, had been open about why she was included. He had probably meant well, too, when he’d gushed breathlessly during his presentation, that Kang Miso has been a pillar for this project, working so hard and burning the midnight oil with her co-producer, never knowing how Yoongi’s stomach had jolted at those words and he’d faced forward - only to see Miso’s father staring right at him.
“Is it about the album?”
Yoongi is about to deny it, but he figures he may as well engage - anything but think about what’s to come.
“Er - kind of.”
Miso waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she blinks. “Yes, you’ve really painted a picture for me,” she says dryly.
Fighting the urge to sigh, he shakes his head. “The way I’ve written it… it’s perfect. If I may say so myself,” he adds hastily, glancing away from the road momentarily. “That includes a collaboration… with this absolute jackass.”
Miso makes a sound of mild surprise. He pictures her raising her eyebrows in the way she does, which could indicate anything from sympathy to mockery.
“Why’s he a jackass?”
“He said some stuff about us - BTS - back in the day.” Yoongi takes a turn into a wide street, now officially entering the suburbs of Gangnam, home to the rich and famous. Not idol rich. Businessman rich. Chaebol rich.
“What kind of stuff?” Miso prompts him.
“Just… basically implied that some of us were sell-outs for doing the idol thing instead of sticking to hip-hop.” He winces at the memory. “I mean, he apologised publicly for it later, but…” He clicks his tongue.
“You called the guy who dissed you to work on a collab?” She lets out a low whistle. “That doesn’t sound like you, Min Suga.”
He half-chuckles. “It doesn’t?”
“No. Although, I’ve dissed you a bunch of times and it hasn’t kept you from working with me.”
“Not for lack of trying, too.” He hears her snicker at that and his smile widens a bit. “I didn’t call him. He reached out to me - or, his people reached out to mine.” He sighs deeply. “I don’t know.”
Miso is quiet for a moment. “You said he apologised, though.”
“Well, yeah, but -”
“And it’s good for your album?”
“It would be great - he’s an incredible rapper. But -”
“Then what’s the problem? It’s just work.”
Yoongi is about to argue but stops himself, sensing that he isn’t going to make much headway here. Things like baggage, band loyalty, camaraderie - while she understands them on an intellectual level, she seems too detached to actually spot them in reality.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you nervous?”
“About tonight?” Miso hesitates, then shakes her head. “There’s no point thinking about it. You never know what’s going to happen and…” She turns to him, leaning back against her side of the car. “It’s better to just be prepared for anything.”
Yoongi blinks, for this does not help him at all. But there’s a note of resignation in her tone that prevents him from pointing it out and he half-wonders if he himself is overthinking it, or if Miso has just transcended past the mad anxiety into a state of unhinged calm or something.
They don’t speak again until they reach Miso’s house - or, rather, her father’s estate. Like the last time he was here, Yoongi can’t fathom this kind of wealth - the kind that changes people, or the kind that influences things like business and politics beyond what you read in the papers.
He parks the car and they step out together, walking beside each other but with a careful distance between them all the way from the car park to the lawns sprawled in front of the house. It’s dark by now and the perfectly mown grass is damp with dew. Yoongi’s stomach churns unexpectedly; a few more steps and they will be fully visible in the glow of the lights along the garden.
“Miso.”
She takes a couple of more steps before stopping, turning around when she realises he isn’t next to her. “What?”
He stares at her and holds up his hands. “You have to give me something before we go inside. What to expect, what to say - I mean, I have no idea what’s going to happen in there,” he adds, pointing towards the house.
Miso frowns, her arms crossed. “Neither do I. This is quite literally the first time this has ever happened.”
But something in his expression must have told her he’s serious, for a moment later, she sighs and her face softens a bit. She clears her throat and takes a small step towards him.
“Fine. Don’t tell my mother her house looks nice,” she says. “Tell her the decor is better than every celebrity’s house you’ve ever been to.” She waits for a few seconds, presumably to let this digest. “Don’t… compliment me. But also don’t insult me,” she adds, frowning. “And don’t make it seem like we’ve worked together all that much… but also kind of let it be known that I’m probably the most valuable team member you’ve ever had.”
“How -”
“And try to act intimidated by my father,” she continues, “but not in a… like a simpering way, or he’ll lose respect for you.”
Yoongi scoffs. “I’m not trying to earn his respect.”
Miso purses her lips lightly. “Maybe. But trust me - you don’t want to lose it.”
He bites his lip, his head swimming. He wishes he could enter her mind to try and understand what the hell she’s talking about. But he never has and he doubts tonight is when it will change.
“Let’s go back to your earlier suggestion of not thinking about it,” he mutters. Miso pokes her tongue into her cheek, looking almost as though she’s suppressing a smile.
“If I were a cliche, I’d tell you to just be yourself,” she tells him as they resume walking. “But that hasn’t worked out so well for me in the past, so…”
“Worked fine on me. Well, not during the first couple of years of knowing you but, you know. After that.”
Miso snorts again, covering her hand with her mouth. “New rule: do not try to make me laugh in there.”
Inexplicably, Yoongi feels his mouth twist. They are almost at her front door now, only a few steps remaining before them. “I’ll do my best, Kang Chanel.”
“Do not call me Kang Chanel in there,” she hisses, her eyes still betraying mirth. “Min Suga,” she tacks on at the end.
Yoongi wants to joke back but at that moment, she reaches forward to push open the door. Just like the first time he’d seen it, it’s enormous, creaking cleanly on hinges. When they step inside and the door closes behind them, it’s like being enclosed in a dungeon again.
The living room is expansive - but it’s also different. He frowns, trying to recall the last time he’d been here, so long ago. Had it always been green?
“Mother took on an interior decorating project earlier this year,” mutters Miso, almost as if she can hear his thoughts. “She thought cream and green were more regal.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond immediately. Once the initial surprise dies down, the olive green and cream combination is actually not too bad, if a bit unexpected. He remembers Miso’s advice and makes a mental note to mention it to her mother.
“Where is -”
“In here.” Miso walks ahead of him, the distance between them already increasing. Yoongi follows her out of the hall and into the dining area, the entire space as big as the apartment he grew up in. The fireplace is immaculate, with electric flames dancing mildly on the base. The floors are shiny enough for him to see his reflection in, and the decor (black, white and light gold) makes him feel like he’s in a hotel. He exhales and turns to look for Miso, only to face the bar - and the bartender.
“Welcome,” says the man behind the bar. He places four glasses before him - three tumblers and one wine glass - with smooth precision. He doesn’t look up until he’s poured a whiskey into the first two glasses. “Do you drink, Yoongi?”
Yoongi starts; he realises he expected the house to be crawling with staff. A cook here, a butler there, a housekeeper, a gardener, possibly a shoe-shiner - definitely not Kang Jaesung himself standing at the bar, making his own drink.
A sound breaks through this revelation; it’s Miso clearing her throat and Yoongi realises he was asked a question.
“Uh, yes… sir.”
Kang Jaesung nods mildly but doesn’t look up, pouring a third whiskey, followed by a few drops of water in each. Yoongi doesn’t know if he’s imagining the sudden aroma of expensive whiskey. A few ice cubes clink with the bottom of each glass; Miso steps forward to pick one up and her father does the same. Just before taking a sip, he pushes the third glass an inch.
“Drink,” he says, finally meeting Yoongi’s eyes. There’s no please, no hint of a question or an offer, but something about his tone takes Yoongi off guard. It’s not a challenge, or even an order - but he doesn’t know what it is either.
After hesitating for a moment, Yoongi picks up the drink. He takes a sip to discover the smoothest whiskey he has ever tasted, and his stomach twists painfully at the thought of how much this bottle would’ve cost.
“Delicious whiskey, Father,” says Miso, standing by the dining table.
“It’s Scottish,” he replies in answer, now retrieving a bottle of Cabernet from the shelf behind him and pouring it into the remaining wine glass. He finally steps out from behind the bar just as, as if on cue, Miso’s mother appears in a spotless white sleeveless pantsuit.
“For my lady,” he murmurs, reaching her and offering her the wine. They exchange a momentary hint of a smile and clink their glasses together before drinking together.
Yoongi frowns but immediately straightens his face, instead turning to look at Miso and hoping to see his own confusion reflected in her face. But she isn’t looking confused; in fact, she isn’t even looking at him. She’s walking towards the expansive kitchen and scanning the food neatly laid out - trays of sushi, the choicest cuts of lamb, devilled eggs and salmon. It seems like an awful lot for only four people, but before he can dwell on it, he hears his name.
“Yoongi.” It’s Miso’s mother this time. “How lovely to see you again.”
For some reason, my mother’s got it in her head that I’m her competition. Yoongi’s mind immediately goes back to the hotel, to the restaurant opening, to the coat closet. To his horror, he can feel his cheeks heat up and he hopes to the heavens that they aren’t changing colour.
“You, too, Mrs Kang.”
He bows, a little belatedly, but finds she has simply brushed past him and into the dining area. “Your - your house is beautiful. Much more than some of the other houses I’ve been to in Gangnam,” he adds quickly.
Kang Sera says nothing but a moment later she raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement, looking somewhat satisfied. “Thank you. It’s changed a lot since you were last here.”
Yoongi is sure he spots Miso’s eyes widening for a fraction of a second but before he can react, she’s smoothly changed the subject.
“The new drapes are lovely, too, Mother. They are imported, you know?” she says. “From Italy.”
It takes him a moment to realise he’s expected to respond. Meeting her eyes briefly, he nods. “They’re… wonderful.”
There’s a brief silence during which Kang Sera, looking almost bored, takes a seat at one end of the table. Her husband follows suit and sits at the other end after which, finally, Miso pulls out a chair along one of the sides.
“You should offer a seat to our guest first, Miso.” Kang Jaesung speaks, sounding like he’s chiding her for not doing her homework on time. “Yoongi. I apologise for my daughter.”
“Oh, no, that’s - that’s quite alright,” he replies hastily, not quite sure why he’s stuttering. He pulls up a chair as well, directly opposite Miso, who’s pursing her lips with her eyes on her glass.
Kang Jaesung makes a motion and as if out of nowhere, two men appear from somewhere near the kitchen and pick up the trays of food, beginning to silently serve them.
“So, Yoongi. I hear you’ve been working for Big Hit for a few years now.”
It’s not a question. Yoongi isn’t immediately sure how to respond, especially since no one has ever referred to him as “working” for Big Hit before.
“I - yes. Eight years. Eleven, if you count training.”
“Training?” he asks, eyebrows slightly raised, sounding barely interested.
“Yes. All idols need to train before they can debut. Before they can begin releasing music,” he adds, as if to clarify. But then the next second he cringes inwardly, wondering if that comes across as patronising.
“Idol? So… do you dance and sing and all that?” There’s a hint of a smile on his face, teetering between confusion and amusement.
He instinctively bristles, becoming instantly defensive. But Yoongi gets a distinct feeling that the question is meant to unsettle him, and he nods.
“That’s right. Sir. I also work as a producer for the company, though.”
Kang Jaesung observes him for a moment, then raises his eyebrows and nods, sitting back in his chair, spine straight. “That’s quite impressive. Two jobs, two roles. Two ways to make the company dependent on you,” he adds, his smile widening slightly, as though sharing a private joke. “Impressive.”
It occurs to Yoongi only now that as such a big stakeholder of Big Hit, it seems unlikely that he would not know about Yoongi’s participation in the group. But the thought seems benign; instinctively, Yoongi smiles back, albeit a little uncomfortably.
“Do you think it’s impressive, Miso?”
Yoongi’s heart jerks a little, but Miso doesn’t even flinch. “It is,” she answers, before looking at Yoongi briefly. “Congratulations.”
Their kiss in the coat closet might as well have been a figment of Yoongi’s imagination for all the distance she’s displaying right now. He tells himself it’s a part she’s playing (too well, possibly) but for now, he finds himself wishing she would at least meet his eyes for longer than a second.
“I suppose it’s a good thing you and Miso are working together,” he continues, as the last of the food is finally served and the waiters shuffle away just as quietly as they’d appeared. “I didn’t think much of it in the beginning but it might be worth it for the experience. And the role models.”
Yoongi can’t tell if he’s being made fun of. There’s that twinkle in Kang Jaesung’s eye again, like he’s bringing Yoongi in on a joke, but a bigger part of his brain is focused on Miso. Surely - surely - this must be making Kang Miso’s blood boil?
Miso takes a sip of her whiskey and looks at her father, tilting her head slightly. “I told you there was an upside, Father,” she says, almost teasingly.
Kang Jaesung nods and smiles, raising his glass slightly. “I concede to you there.”
From across the table, Miso’s mother chuckles. “You may have done the impossible, Miso. Your father doesn’t admit defeat so easily.”
They all laugh lightly and begin tucking into their plates, while Yoongi watches in horrid fascination. It’s as though he’s watching a play - a terribly written play with rubbish storytelling, with actors simply reading off a script.
As the dinner progresses, the same line of delicate conversation continues. Kang Jaesung asks a question whose answer seems elusive as ever, Yoongi uneasily provides one anyway, he responds with a statement that could be taken in ten different ways, while his wife and daughter interject occasionally.
Try as he might, Yoongi can’t understand Kang Jaesung. Until today, he had pigeonholed the business magnate as a narcissistic, sociopathic capitalist who struck a mysterious fear in Miso. Yoongi hated his very existence on principle - which is why he cannot fathom how he is not only sitting next to Kang Jaesung and eating his food and drinking his booze, but he is actually trying.
It’s hard to admit but somewhere through dinner, Yoongi realises he’s genuinely intimidated by Kang Jaesung. It’s not hostile in nature, but the mild smiles and the sparing, passive aggressive compliments make Yoongi want to correct him - to actively appear better in front of him.
The Kangs continue to put on this charade of a well-natured, riffing family which would be amusing if it weren’t so obviously untrue. He wonders how and why Miso is participating, until it occurs to him that this little production isn’t being put on for his benefit. No, it seems far too rehearsed, almost as if it’s been going on for years.
He also realises a little while later, when there’s a momentary pause after a joke that he’s suddenly sure has broken this facade (but results in a borderline haunting chuckle from Kang Jaesung), that the only reason it seems so fake to him is because he knows it’s fake. Everything Miso has told him, however grudgingly, about her family has been with disdain and resignation and he is suddenly sure he is the first and only person she has ever confided in.
Yoongi tries to meet Miso’s eyes, but it seems hopeless now. She’s acting like he’s just a colleague. Even worse, she’s channelling the Miso he met and resented instantly over a year ago, ignoring the waiters who serve her and seeming more in tune with her horrible wealthy parents than ever.
It isn’t until the dinner is coming to an end, the last course of smoked lamb and caviar (Caviar? On a Wednesday night?) being cleared away that Yoongi gets any indication at all that he isn’t stuck in the most mediocre nightmare he’s ever had.
Miso has just nonchalantly laughed off a rather backhanded comment by her mother regarding her relationship status. Yoongi, for a plethora of reasons, grits his teeth at this but holds his tongue, biting his lip until his phone buzzes in on the seat of the chair next to him. He’s about to ignore it until he sees Miso’s name flash across the screen.
His chest jolts; looking around and deciding that the minor transition movement of the plates being cleared away, Kang Jaesung checking his phone and Kang Sera motioning for another drink, is safe for him to swipe up the screen.
Kang Chanel [20:35]
Fix your face, Min Suga.
Yoongi grits his teeth harder - but, he realises a moment later, only to keep from accidentally smiling. His eyes snap up to look at her but she’s finishing her drink, looking rather haughty and bored in her own dining room, as though she can’t wait for this night to be over.
Yoongi can relate. He is supposed to meet Jungkook to record a demo tonight, he remembers suddenly. Eleven pm was what they had agreed upon which seems doable, but also seems too far away.
“So, Yoongi,” says Kang Jaesung, as dessert starts being served. “What do you think of my daughter?”
There’s a moment where no one speaks, and Yoongi simply blinks. “Sir?”
He raises his eyebrows. “As her superior,” he clarifies slowly, “what do you think of her? Do you think she has a future in music?”
For the first time all night, Yoongi deliberately does not look in Miso’s direction. “She does,” he replies honestly. “She has shown a good understanding of the different elements of making music and… well, she’s worked on quite a few collaborations that have gone on to release.”
Kang Jaesung smiles; the same small, mild, perfunctory smile. “That’s good to hear, I suppose. Although, it’s tough,” he muses. “You see, for a man in my position, I have to be… discerning, when I hear about my own family. Miso is my heir and I have to be sure that my life’s work, my fortune… it’s in the right hands. I have no doubt she works hard but she will never truly know the desperation to make it,” he says casually, as though his heir and legacy isn’t sitting five feet away from him. “Not like you and me.”
Yoongi’s stomach twists; he feels nauseous. He doesn’t know if it’s Miso being called her father’s “heir”, or Kang Jaesung’s familiarity in lumping himself and Yoongi together, or the fact that a part deep down inside him, the part that once thought very less of Kang Chanel for the exact same reasons, almost agrees.
He doesn’t want to dwell on how much Kang Jaesung might know of his own struggles; whether he is simply guessing or he’s had a PI tailing him. But it’s dawning on him that accepting this invitation was a huge mistake, on every level. He can’t imagine looking Miso in the eye right now. Does she assume he agrees with her father?
“I suppose one can’t be held responsible for their childhood… sir,” he says finally, feeling both defensive yet drained. “But you can be proud of Miso’s work ethic. She is an asset to - to the team.”
Kang Jaesung nods, then frowns. “I wish I could take your word for it, Yoongi. But you are just one person in the company.”
“Yes, but I have worked with Miso the longest, on multiple songs,” he replies, trying not to sound too argumentative. “It’s been over a year and I can - I can tell you, sir… she has grown a lot. I can vouch for that.”
There’s silence again. Kang Jaesung licks his lips slowly, the hint of a smile still present, observing Yoongi as though he’s just noticed him for the first time. For a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s convinced him, but a movement in his periphery distracts him.
He turns to look at Kang Sera, who’s just placed a hand under her chin with one slender finger over her mouth, a grim sort of satisfaction on her face. Next to her, Miso is finally looking directly at him, her eyes wary.
And Yoongi realises he might have made a terrible mistake.
—
The Kangs’ living room, now that he’s actually in it, is enormous. It’s like a hotel ballroom, like an extremely luxurious prison cell where a billionaire might be forced to stay in solitary for the crime of not wasting money.
A waiter appears at Yoongi’s elbow where he’s by the floor-to-ceiling glass case, holding a silver tray with a small white coffee cup.
“It’s Arabic,” says Miso’s mother, the only person sitting, legs folded elegantly underneath her on the plush white sofa. “Handpicked coffee beans that are dried and shipped in airtight containers to our doorstep. Costs a fortune.”
Shocker. Yoongi takes a sip; it’s good, but not worthy of a soliloquy.
“It’s delicious. I’ve never had anything like it.”
She nods in satisfaction and goes back to her phone, manicured talons swiping up the screen while she sips her coffee.
“Did you drive here, Yoongi?” Kang Jaesung asks, standing at the other end of the glass case, one hand holding a cup and the other in his pocket, observing a plaque displayed inside.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you find the house alright?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about the guards outside? Did they give you any trouble?” He tilts his head towards Yoongi, almost jovially. “They are instructed to protect the house from outsiders after all.”
Yoongi grits his teeth again, frustrated. It’s a double-edged sword, one that cannot keep those guards from getting in trouble either way unless he gives Kang Jaesung the exact response he wants.
“They recognised Miso, sir.”
“Oh, yes, of course. You drove her here,” he feigns remembering. “I almost forgot.”
Bullshit.
“How nice of you, Yoongi.” Kang Sera looks up from across the room, her gaze flickering towards Miso by the corner of one of the armchairs, shoulders hunched and silently staring into her coffee. “You and Miso must really go far back for you to offer her a ride. Or you’re just a very good boss.” She titters.
No, you witch. Your husband took the car and the driver, and outright asked me to drive your daughter home - apparently just so he can fuck with us.
Kang Jaesung chuckles in agreement, and Yoongi wants to throw the steaming contents of his cup in the older man’s face.
“You’re a lucky girl, Miso,” her father says, glancing back at her. “But she’s always been lucky. She graduated from a university in New Zealand - a year early,” he adds. “Did you know that, Yoongi?”
“Australia,” mutters Miso, but no one save for Yoongi seems to hear her.
“Come. Take a look.” Kang Jaesung motions to Yoongi to join him and waits until he does. He points to a plaque inside, with the name of a university, followed by Class of 2012 embossed in bronze. On the left side is a space for a photo frame, with a picture of a much younger Miso in a red and white graduation gown, holding a diploma.
“Wow,” murmurs Yoongi, only for a lack of anything else to say.
Her father hums. “Two years after this, she got her business degree from Columbia - Columbia University, that’s in America - but she wanted to move back to Australia straight after.” He shakes his head. “I tried to talk her out of it but she’s really quite stubborn that way.”
Something about this anecdote just does not sound correct at all, but Yoongi knows it’s not his place to ask - not here, anyway. He makes a mental note to bring it up with Miso later, but for now, he just wants this dinner to end.
“I’m sure we have the plaque for that, too - Miso, come here and help me look.”
For a moment, it looks as though Miso might decline but then she walks over, moving straight past Yoongi who takes this opportunity to step away from Kang Jaesung’s immediate radius so he’s standing a few feet away from both father and daughter who are by the glass case.
“Over there,” she mutters, pointing to right behind the first plaque.
“Oh, of course. It’s getting blocked by this.” He opens the case and shifts a framed magazine cover with his own face on it - looking blazing and stony and worldly all at once - and brings Miso’s Columbia plaque forward.
“There we go. That’s better, isn’t it?”
Miso sips her coffee noncommittally but doesn’t answer. Yoongi gets the feeling she was expected to, however, and finds himself responding.
“Congratulations on the Time cover. Sir.”
“Thank you. I suppose achievement is genetic as well.” He smiles and looks from his daughter to his wife - the latter of whom has now put down her phone. Any remnant of phone humour has left her face as she stares at her husband, who’s looked away by now.
“They are both quite impressive, Yoongi,” she says after a moment. “In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t see it the last time you were here.”
It’s the second time she’s brought up his last visit to this house, during a time when the only feelings Yoongi could muster towards Miso were resentment, annoyance and some amount of pity. There’s no avoiding it this time, though; Kang Jaesung picks up on it immediately.
“What’s that?” He frowns, his tone sharper than it has been all evening. His eyes snap up to Yoongi. “I didn’t realise you’d been here before.”
He’s telling the truth, Yoongi realises. All evening, Kang Jaesung has been one, maybe several steps ahead of them. This time, though, he’s been caught off guard.
“Of course he has. It was at the family gathering last summer. Don’t you remember, darling? Miso brought Yoongi as her date - I was so excited until Miso told me they were simply colleagues.” She titters again, but there’s no humour there whatsoever.
Yoongi can’t accurately judge the severity of the situation, but even though she’s a few feet away, he can’t almost feel Miso stiffen.
“I see,” says Kang Jaesung, softly. “How amusing.”
“He wasn’t a date, Father,” says Miso, eyes flickering upwards but not meeting her fathers’. “I invited him as a guest, because he was my boss at the time. You had met him, too, in the studio.”
“Is that right? Well, now. It might be my mistake,” he says suddenly. “I wasn’t made aware that I was… setting something else in motion.” His lips curl around the words. “I suppose girls never grow out of keeping things from their fathers.”
There’s the same pretence of good-natured family humour, but Yoongi is not fooled this time. It’s the most tense, uncomfortable situation he can remember being in. He looks up to see Kang Jaesung watching his daughter, while Miso’s fingers tighten around her cup.
Maybe it’s completely innocuous, but something about the motion makes Yoongi’s gaze move to her hands and an image flashes in his mind, of a bluish purple mark on her wrist.
It all happens in an instant. Kang Jaesung raises his hand very slightly - he may have simply been reaching for his phone for all Yoongi knows - to his right, Miso inhales shakily, and Yoongi instinctively steps in between them. At the last second he places his empty coffee cup on the table under the glass case, attempting to be nonchalant.
But the damage is done. Kang Jaesung’s gaze bores into Yoongi, a few seconds which feel like they last several hours, until finally he takes a step back.
“I think we might call it a night here,” he suggests, taking a sip of his coffee and placing his cup right next to Yoongi’s. He picks up his phone and moves away, as though already having forgotten. “Yoongi… forgive me. I’m a busy man.”
Yoongi nods jerkily. “Of course. Thank you for the invite. The dinner was wonderful. Thank you, Mrs Kang,” he adds after a moment. He moves to leave, careful not to acknowledge Miso at all. Just as he’s almost out of the living room, his heart uncomfortably and irregularly beating, Kang Jaesung speaks again.
“Miso, please escort our guest to his car.”
“Of course.”
There’s no time for Yoongi to react. Miso walks towards him and motions for him to continue, and they exit the house together, down the stairs and across the lawn in complete silence. Yoongi is too on edge to speak, not even sure where to begin. But the mansion looms behind him, opulent and intimidating and it isn’t until they cross beyond the lights bordering the lawn and reach his car in the dark parking lot that Yoongi is finally confident enough to openly face her.
“Miso,” he says, and he is shocked to hear the worry in his voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what just happened but I - I swear I didn’t mean to say -”
He’s cut off almost instantly, however. Her face is shrouded in the dark of the night underneath a moonless sky, but he can still see the smile flicker across her face before she reaches forward and kisses him.
It takes Yoongi a few bewildered seconds to respond but by the time he can register it, it’s already over.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. She doesn’t look or sound happy, but the smile is still there, almost resigned. She looks like she wants to say more but gives up quickly. On some level, Yoongi is glad. He doesn’t know if either of them wants it out there, in the universe: the implications of his instincts, the reason for their being. But they can’t deny that it happened and that for a moment, someone stood between her and her father.
“I’ll see you around, Yoongi,” she says. Before he can say anything, she turns around and walks back to her house.
—
Miso doesn’t come into work the next day. Yoongi does an all-nighter at the studio, but even when he returns in the late afternoon, after a nap and scarfing down some instant ramen, she still isn’t there. He waits, fidgeting throughout the day, but she never comes. She doesn’t come the next day either, or the day after that.
Yoongi doesn’t know what to feel. Paranoid is a safe word, especially because it implies a fear of nothing in specific, which is exactly what it seems like right now. He calls her, half-heartedly, only to get her voicemail. Disappointed but not quite surprised, he asks Donghyuk.
“She called in sick a couple of days ago,” he supplies, which sounds like bullshit to Yoongi but is none of Donghyuk’s business.
Finally, after four days during which Yoongi tries hard to suppress his helplessness so he can work, Miso returns.
Yoongi is in his studio, working with a young solo artist on a track for her second studio album. They are debating a lyric in the second verse, stuck on the inflection of a particular word, when the door to his studio opens.
“Yoongi,” says Miso, in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. “Donghyuk is asking if you will be available any time today to prep for the marketing meeting tomorrow.”
It’s a full ten seconds before Yoongi is able to answer. It isn’t until she raises her eyebrows and gives him a look that he snaps out of it.
“I - yes. I will be. Uh… when?”
“I don’t know. He’s not here right now, but I can ask him when he gets back.” With that, she nods and retreats, the door swinging shut behind her.
Yoongi stays still, glued to his seat, and takes a deep breath. “Where were we?” he asks the artist next to him, barely noticing when she points out the line they were discussing. He nods and they stay on the topic, tone neutral, while Yoongi counts to a hundred and twenty in his head.
“You know what? Just give me a minute,” he says apologetically, already standing up. “I forgot something - but keep at it. I think we’re finally getting somewhere.” He gives her an encouraging thumbs up before calmly walking out of his studio. The moment the door closes behind him, he rushes to Donghyuk’s studio.
Without knocking, he throws open the door to see Miso standing at the opposite end of the studio, leaning back against the wall and typing something into her phone. She looks up the moment he enters and a smile starts to form on her face.
Yoongi exhales and strides in, and they meet halfway in a hug.
“Fucking hell, Kang Miso,” he murmurs, realising at this very moment that not only had he been worried this whole time, but he’d also missed her. “Could’ve dropped me a text or something, you know?”
She chuckles dryly, and her arms tighten around his neck for a moment before she relaxes and steps away. She looks the same as always, but a bit more subdued somehow. He can’t put his finger on it exactly; it’s something in the eyes-face-hair area but the smile she cracks is the same as always.
“Nothing nearly interesting enough to text you about,” she replies, shrugging. “I’m sure me being gone was a net positive - you probably got a lot more work done without me snarking about it.”
“Shut up, that’s not funny,” he mutters, but feels his lips twitch anyway. “Jesus, Miso, where… I mean, how…” He trails away, suddenly with no idea what to ask. A sudden memory flashes through his mind and he grabs her hand, pushing her sleeve up to reveal her pale, slender wrist.
Yoongi blinks at it for a few seconds before slowly meeting her eyes, part relieved and part embarrassed. Miso’s head is tilted slightly, as though she knows where his mind is. He’s saved from trying to speak when the studio door opens and it’s Hyeongseo, the artist he’s been working with all day.
“Hey - oh, sorry,” she says vaguely. Yoongi realises he’s still holding Miso’s hand and drops it immediately, turning away from her. “It’s just… I need to head out for a shoot soon, so…”
“Of course.” He nods and follows Hyeongseo out of the studio but stops just short of the exit to look at Miso. “We’ll, uh…”
She crosses her arms across her chest and nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” There’s a moment of awkward silence during which Yoongi’s feet won’t move. “Don’t leave,” he blurts out, managing to add a warning tone to it at the end to cover up the mortification.
Thankfully she chuckles and waves him away. “Go do some work, Min Suga.”
And Yoongi does just that. For the next hour, he pores over the rest of the song with Hyeongseo and even manages to record a rough demo for their next meeting. His mind is catching the most minute beats and sounds and pronunciations with ease and by the time they listen to the final version of the demo, he’s surprised even himself.
He doesn’t go back to Donghyuk’s studio, though, even after Hyeongseo leaves. He spends a while longer on other work, returns some emails, goes on a smoke break - anything to not be the one to try and accost Miso again, especially after that overeager Don’t leave!
At some point during the night, she drops him a text.
Kang Chanel [21:50]
Donghyuk has managed to pick the absolute worst pizza place in the damn city.
It takes Yoongi a few minutes to decode the message, after which he simply decides she wants him to come over on the pretext of helping finish some sub-standard pizza. He turns out to be correct on all accounts and while he’s initially mildly disappointed to see Donghyuk there as well, it ends up being for the best, for it’s the first time since he’s ever known Miso that they have both hung out as friends, with friends, eating pizza and joking around without any sort of awkwardness or discomfort.
Despite Donghyuk’s reputation for crassness and abrasive attitude, he and Miso genuinely seem to be friends. Yoongi is uncertain how much he knows or what he thinks he’s deduced; it becomes somewhat clear when Donghyuk finally decides to head out for the night and tells them very cryptically to not to do anything he wouldn’t do. It elicits a chuckle from Miso, and Yoongi finds himself grateful on two counts as the other producer bids them goodbye.
“The pizza wasn’t nearly as bad as you made it out to be,” says Yoongi after a moment, when it’s just the two of them. They’re on a revolving chair each, about five feet away from each other.
“Clearly, since you polished off four slices,” she points out, stretching her arms and gathering her hair into a ponytail. She hitches one of her legs up on the chair, the soles of her Converse shoes slightly muddy, and sighs tiredly.
Yoongi glances down at his hands. They’re finally alone but it hits him that despite a lot of worrying, he’s had no way of preparing for this moment.
“So what have I missed?” Miso asks, as though she’s been on vacation. “Aside from that weird new security scanner they have on the floor.”
He doesn’t look up. “A sasaeng managed to break into the building. Twelve hours later, it was there.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Really? Wow, some people have a lot of time on their hands. Who was she here for? Wait - is it offensive to assume it was a girl?”
“Miso,” he says.
“Hm?”
Yoongi meets her eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” he asks softly.
“Home,” she answers, without missing a beat.
“Home?”
“Home,” she confirms. “You were there a few days ago.”
He ignores the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I remember your house,” he mutters. “So you were just… in your house, the last four days?” When she shrugs, he blinks. “Why?”
“I mean…” Miso shifts in her chair and sighs, as though the answer should be obvious. “As you could probably tell, that dinner did not go all that well. My father said he needed to decide if he could - quote unquote - trust me.” She rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue nonchalantly. “So I couldn’t go to work until he was sure.” She shrugs again.
The questions in Yoongi’s mind are endless. “So… what? He trusts you now?”
“Apparently.”
“Like, he gave you permission to come to work today?”
“I guess you could call it that.”
Yoongi sighs deeply. “Miso, come on. I’ve been worried sick about you - I thought I got you in trouble. You’ve got to give me something more here.”
For a moment, she looks like she’s about to argue, but then her eyes soften slightly. “Yoongi, there’s really nothing more to tell. I’m serious - I know what you’re thinking,” she adds when he opens his mouth to retort. “Okay? The sleeve thing was pretty obvious. But I promise you, I was mostly just in my room, getting bored, getting my meals delivered to my doorstep, and trying to read War and Peace.”
“What -”
“It’s a book.”
He stares, feeling a very familiar annoyance surfacing. “I was going to ask, What about your phone?” he clarifies slowly. “Or could you not just drop me a text to let me know you were okay?”
For the first time, Miso hesitates. “My phone… may have been taken away. It was brought to me this morning along with my breakfast, which is how I figured I was good to come in today.”
It occurs to Yoongi that he isn’t about to get any further details about her disappearance. From where he’s standing, it sounds as though she was locked in her room for four days with no means of communication until her villain of a father deemed it okay for her to be released. But Miso’s tone seems extremely incongruous to the situation, sounding almost unbothered, and it’s frustrating on multiple levels.
“You know…” He begins, then stops. This could backfire. “I hope you know that you can trust me,” he tries again. “You can tell me if… well, anything.” He waits.
She observes him for a moment. “Okay, I’ll say it,” she states abruptly. “No, I wasn’t hurt. My father doesn’t really have a taste for violence.”
Yoongi scoffs without meaning to; despite having no evidence to the contrary, he finds that hard to believe.
“I’m not saying he’s not capable of it,” she amends, “but it’s not his style.”
“Yeah? What is his style?”
“This,” she answers, surprising him. “Power. And control. Something that night made him feel like he wasn’t fully in control of the situation,” she says, and her pause indicates to Yoongi that they both know what that probably was. “So this was his way of making sure I know who’s really in charge. He’s done it before,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.
What the fuck? “So…” Yoongi struggles to form a coherent sentence for a few seconds. “So what changed? What did he do in those four days that changed everything?”
“I don’t know!” Miso exclaims, half-chuckling. “Who the hell knows what goes in my father’s head? It’s pointless to try and figure it out after a point. But you shook him in a way that I haven’t seen in a while,” she admits after a moment.
He can’t deduce if this is meant to be a compliment. “I really thought I got you in trouble,” he murmurs. “I tried to keep my distance but I think I might have…” He trails off.
“Yoongi.” She shifts in her chair so she’s facing him completely. “This wasn’t your fault,” she tells him, as though it just occurred to her that this might be a possibility to him.
“But you told me, even back at that restaurant opening, that your mother would get all crazy and even before the dinner, you said -”
“Yeah, but that’s not what happened here,” she interrupts him. “Yoongi, my father knows I’ve had relationships with men. I mean, I’m almost thirty - it’s not that shocking. That is not why I asked you to keep your distance. I mean, it is, but…” She shakes her head. “Not in the way that you think.”
Yoongi runs his hand down his face. He can’t imagine growing up like this, living, constantly, in a cold war with your parents.
“Look, somehow, all the guys I’ve ever been with - and there haven’t been that many of them - have always been related to my father in a way. They were either in the same social circle or their fathers worked for my father, or they worked for my father.”
“I don’t work for your father,” he says immediately.
She frowns. “Don’t you?”
The minute detail of Kang Jaesung being a Hybe stakeholder had slipped Yoongi’s mind, and the fact suddenly makes him want to vomit.
“The only guy that had nothing to do with my father was this guy I was seeing when I lived in Australia,” she continues. “The moment they got wind of the fact that it was getting slightly serious, I was made to return to Seoul.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond. Perhaps Miso realises why, for her tone is suddenly gentler.
“But you may be the first one of them to ever make him feel threatened. And I’m not just talking about the thing at the end,” she clarifies, a hint of a smile on her lips.
It takes him a moment, but he returns it. Her kiss had lingered for hours after the fact - days, even - and Yoongi had remembered it with guilt and longing in equal measure. He wishes this were easier.
“Why don’t you leave, Miso?” he asks, noting how she stiffens. “Haven’t you even thought about it?”
It’s clear from the way she turns away from him ever so slightly that this isn’t where she expected the conversation to go.
“It’s not that easy,” she says flatly.
“Not at first, sure. But you’re twenty-nine - I mean, it’s pretty common to move out by this age,” he points out. “I’m sure you have savings. You can get an apartment - or I can help you out. But… why are you still here?”
She presses her tongue into her cheek. “It’s complicated.”
He’s about to argue, when something else stirs in his memory of that dinner. “By the way… can I ask you something?” He takes her begrudging raise of the eyebrows as a yes. “What did your father mean when he said… that you’re his heir?”
She’s silent for so long that he thinks she may not answer at all. “He meant exactly what you think he meant,” she says eventually.
“So you’re going to inherit… what? His whole company?”
“I’m a chaebol. You know what that means, right?”
He does, it’s true. Not only does he know it in theory, he knows she is one. He’s called her that, multiple times; in the early days of their tense dynamic, it felt harsher than nepo baby.
“What did you do about your collab?” she asks before he can continue on his train of thought.
“Oh -” Yoongi pauses. “Um - nothing. Yet. Still debating what to do next.”
“Still? Either this artist is epic or you’re just overthinking this, Min Suga.”
“Genius Dragon is unfortunately that good, but I’m not overthinking for no good reason. It’s -”
“Hold on - his name is Genius Dragon?”
“Yeah, I know, it’s a mouthful.”
“Not to mention original.” She rolls her eyes and winces. “God, I remember this guy. I think I attended a workshop he took a million years ago.”
“Yeah?” This is surprising. “What did you think of him?”
“Kind of full of himself,” she mutters. From this, Yoongi gathers that she agrees with his assessment about the rapper’s talent. “But if he’s that good… come on, don’t tell me this is still about something he said to you a decade ago.”
“It’s not about me,” he retorts, a little defensively. “This album is personal, and this particular song is even more so. Aside from the fact that he’s from Daegu also… he struggled, too. He gets it - and I think that’s why he was harder on Namjoon and the rest of the group, because he thought they made me soft. That’s also why he’s the best choice for this song, though,” he mutters, dropping his head against the back of the chair.
“Isn’t Namjoon an artist, too? Won’t he understand that?” she points out.
“He -” Yoongi sighs. “He might. He’ll never stop me from doing this, if that’s what I want. None of them will.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
It should be obvious, but Yoongi can’t bring himself to say anything other than, “It’s complicated.”
There’s a pause during which he looks up and sees her still looking away, but the corner of her mouth lifted slightly, almost in satisfaction. Her words from a little while ago ring, and he concludes that she’s still miffed with his persistence.
“Hey.” Yoongi reaches forward towards her; hooking his hand under the seat of her chair, he pulls it towards him. It works; despite the fact that she turns to look at him like it’s a massive effort, there’s a softness that’s returned. The arms of their chairs are touching, and they’re closer than they’ve been all night.
“I shouldn’t have pried,” he admits. Miso nods before leaning forward and kissing him.
It’s the first time they’ve kissed without either of them being taken by surprise, or in secret with the fear of being found out. Yoongi hasn’t cut his hair since the last leg of his tour; a pleasant shiver runs down his spine when her fingers brush against the ends at the nape of his neck.
The last thing he wants is to rush this. In the absence of anything else in their way, the kiss is slow and exploratory, with an air of relief that Yoongi knows is not one-sided. He squeezes her knee and she gets up off her chair; without breaking the kiss, slides onto his lap, straddling him with a comfortable weight.
Yoongi wraps an arm around her waist, holding her face to his as gently as he can as her shoulder-length locks brush against his cheek. She sighs into his mouth and his heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t pull away. He can’t imagine it. She smells of something that vaguely reminds him of jasmine but still feels expensive, and he pulls her even closer.
“Min Suga,” she murmurs against his lips, “is that your phone in your front pocket?”
Yoongi freezes, realising a second later that his phone is indeed vibrating in his front pocket. “Among other things,” he mutters, regretfully pulling away slightly and fishing it out of his pocket. His heart sinks when he sees Bang PD’s name flashing on the screen.
“You need to take that,” she tells him, reading the screen upside-down. She moves her torso back and shakes her hair out of her face and off her neck. “And I… I need to get home.”
His phone is still ringing. “Do you want me to drop you home?” he asks as she climbs off his lap.
She gives him a small smile. “Thanks. But Seungkwan is here, so he can…” She doesn’t finish her sentence.
Fifth ring. Yoongi closes his eyes - he needs to take this call. He stands up and reaches the door, hesitating before opening it. There’s a lot that needs to be said and done, but nothing comes to mind. A moment later, Yoongi realises only one of them really matters.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, his hand on the door handle.
“Yes, you will,” she confirms, already starting to pack up the electronics. Her nonchalance is betrayed by the small smile widening a bit. “Now take that damn call, Min Suga.”
He chuckles and nods. “See you tomorrow, Kang Miso,” he says, before stepping out of the studio and answering his phone.
—
Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: Ahhhhh sorry for the late update (Daniella was swamped) but thank you for anticipating this story! I hope you like this and please reblog if you do! Also also also. Have u seen how handsome Seokjin in in every content he releases…I am unwell
Masterlist, Part VI of __
Jung Hoseok was looking at him with visible disgust in his face. The fucker did not even attempt to hide it as he watched his hyung drank another shot of alcohol.
See, he could have drunk alone but this particular mafia prince decided to disrupt their fairly peaceful dinner when he sauntered in with an expensive bottle of whiskey that could feed a community from the price alone. Their conversation was abruptly cutoff when he placed the bottle on the dining table with a thud before proceeding to pour the content in a glass, and then drinking straight from the bottle like the lunatic and eccentric man he was proving to be.
Suffice to say, he was starting to get concerned at his hyung’s actions. He was a man of manners, priding himself to always be in proper decorum and holding himself at such a high esteem. The way he had been for the past few days were anything but the man he claimed to be. It wasn’t only Hoseok who found this peculiar. Park Jimin was nibbling his lower lips in worry, a habit he had from his childhood and was not able to shake off until now.
The brothers, sans Yoongi who was declared missing and presumed dead, all watched as their oldest hyung ignored them and instead, focused on his drinking while actively glaring at his phone as though the silence was offending him.
“This is familiar,” Taehyung commented with his deadpanned voice and continued eating his steak like nothing was amiss, uncaring of whatever was happening outside his dinner he specifically requested from the chef because Seokjin was not in the mood to prepare their usual dinner. “This was you more than a year ago.”
Jungkook looked at knife Taehyung was using as a pointer with a pout. “I didn’t reach that level of patheticness, thank you very much!”
“He’s right, Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon butted in, his hand patted Jungkook’s back.
“Thank you, hyung-“
“He was worst.”
Kim Namjoon enjoyed chaos, it was apparent. He thrived in it, but his cool demeanor and his strictness made it seemed the opposite. The brothers knew better. He wasn’t the straight A student people perceived him to be. Nope, he was much worse with twisted sense of justice and humor.
It can be seen by the way he calmly sipped his wine, the corners of his mouth curling into a subtle smirk as Jungkook exploded and Taehyung dodged the chicken thrown his way. Hoseok, ever the pacifist, didn’t know where to focus his attention to: the two youngest bickering on his one side, or the oldest who had just opened yet another bottle of whisky and was drinking straight from the source as though he had a spare liver and was testing the limits of his current one.
On the other hand, Jimin was on the corner with his phone plastered on his ear. “Hello, bear? Where are you? Come pick me up, I’m scared-” He paused as he listened to the response on the other end. “Hello? Bear?”
“Fine! I’ll just join my favorite hyung!” Jungkook pointedly said as he neared Jin who quietly passed him a glass of whisky. “You’re my only brother now.”
Seokjin suddenly lunged at his phone the moment it dinged with an alert, only to suddenly curse at it much to the surprise of the brothers. The force from which he slammed his phone on the table caused the expensive dinnerware to fear for their lives. Jimin timidly picked up the phone he threw across the table and read the message aloud.
“Dear Doctor Kim Seokjin, I hope this email finds you well. We wanted to extend our heartfelt congratulations to you on your well-deserved nomination- what is this? Are you mad because your research is nominated for a nobel prize?” Jimin turned to his hyung with a frown on his face. He swore his brothers were becoming weirder and weirder as the days passed by. He was the only sane one here, truly.
Of course, it was perfectly sane to threaten any man who came too close to his bear, Jimin reasoned to himself. Or that he purposefully got injured in assignments whenever he felt like her attention was straining away from him.
Seokjin nodded, grumpily resting his chin on his fist. His thick dark brows were pinched together as he cursed at the message. “Stupid awards.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened in realization, “Ah, I get it now. You don’t want award, you want noona.”
This again, Hoseok thought. There was no way his hyung was acting this way because of a woman. He knew his hyung. He was disgusted by women and didn’t find them particularly interesting. In fact, he acted like they didn’t exist and Hoseok thought it was because of his mother. He waited for the denial that he was certain would come…until it didn’t.
Seokjin was silent. The man just literally sat there and drank his alcohol as though he had no plans to deny Jungkook’s ridiculous claim, much to Hoseok’s surprise.
“If you want her so bad, why don’t you apologize already?!” Jungkook shouted, shaking Jin’s shoulder. Ever the competitive one, he caught up to the volume of drink Seokjin intake and now it showed through his loud voice and sluggish movements.
“I already did, you idiot!”
“So she didn’t forgive you! Deserved!”
“As a matter of fact, she did!” Seokjin screamed back at the youngest, the vein in his neck protruding and his ears reddening.
“Then what is the problem, hyung?” Namjoon prompted, even he couldn’t make sense of why he was acting the way he did.
“She forgave me!”
“And that’s…the problem?” Hoseok asked with a tilt in his head.
“Yes!”
“Because?” Jimin prompted, sensing that Seokjin was struggling to articulate his feelings.
“I don’t just want her forgiveness-“
“And they said I was the different want who couldn’t differentiate one emotion from the other,” Taehyung said in a deadpanned manner.
“I realized I don’t want forgiveness. I want-“
“-Her?” Jungkook finished.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Seokjin immediately snapped; his voice was defensive but there was a telltale pause, a moment of hesitation that betrayed his true feelings. He continued, his voice rising with each word, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as the others. “I don’t want her forgiveness. I don’t want her to text me again. I don’t crave her attention. I don’t imagine us running towards each other in a field of flowers somewhere in Amsterdam. And I certainly don’t want her to be the mother of my children!” His voice broke with emotion, and with that final outburst, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the others in stunned silence until the resounding slamming of several doors broke them out of their stupor.
---
You were deeply focused on your phone that you didn’t notice a certain someone standing in your way. You admitted that it was a bad habit of yours to be so utterly unaware of your surroundings nor the danger that it contained when you were thinking of something. It was later in the future when you discovered just how unsafe it was.
You certainly couldn’t have avoided bumping into him, but he could have– and yet, he actively chose not to. The collision could have been avoidable given the sparse amount of space around. It was five in the morning and the hospital lobby was not yet busy. Your pace was not even hurried and he was literally standing there and watching you with his dark eyes enter the hospital lobby. It wasn’t until you collided with his surprisingly broad chest did you notice him. You would’ve stumbled, maybe even fallen, if his hands hadn’t gripped your shoulders, steadying you.
“I’m so sor—” you began, but your words trailed off as your eyes landed on him. You had been expecting a stranger, but instead, you found yourself looking up at Kim Seokjin, someone you had seen not long ago (more than eight hours to be exact).
You blinked up at him, slightly dazed, as he looked down at you with something warm and unexplainable in his eyes. There was a subtle change in him, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t your concern anymore.
Not your monkey, and definitely no longer your circus.
You pulled away from him immediately. However, you noted that there was a hesitation in his touch before he let you go. It was brief and yet, you were sure it was there.
"Sorry about that," he said, his voice smooth and calm. The corners of his mouth curled up in a faint smile, making his eyes twinkle with a touch of amusement.
“No, I should have been paying attention. My apologies, Doctor Kim,” you replied formally, drawing an invisible line between the two of you. Maybe if you did that, you could go back to the way things were before everything got so complicated. Right. It was just correct that you started acting professionally when it came to the Chief. He was, after all, your boss and you had embarrassed yourself enough. If you wanted that stellar recommendation, then you’d have to get your act straight.
You smiled at him and that was when he lost his. You bowed and proceeded to walk away from him, your attention back to your phone as though his presence could no longer affect you. There was something telling him that maybe it was true.
How could you just…brush him off like that?
How could you just go on while he was beating himself for pushing you away?
And how could you expect him to just accept what he found to be unacceptable?! He wasn’t Kim Seokjin, a trained Mafia prince, renowned doctor, billionaire, and the worldwide handsome for nothing.
“Ah!” he groaned dramatically clutching his chest where you had bumped into him, his voice echoing through the quiet hospital lobby. He made sure it was loud enough to grab the attention of everyone around him, including the staff. They immediately ran over to check on him, their eyes wide with concern.
You paused, frozen mid-step, feeling the eyes of the entire room shift toward Seokjin. You could sense it—theatrics. This was exactly the kind of scene you had wanted to avoid, but of course, Seokjin was never one to let things go quietly.
"Doctor Kim! Are you alright?" one nurse asked in a panic, while another was already dialing someone—probably a medic. Someone even was screaming emergency as more people gathered around him.
You sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to summon whatever patience you had left. He left you no choice. Had you leave, you would look like a bitch. Turning on your heel, you walked back to where Seokjin stood, still clutching his chest as if he were on the verge of collapse. His eyes met yours, sparkling mischievously despite the serious expression he tried to maintain.
“Really, Seokjin?” you muttered under your breath.
---
“Doctor Y/N, your negligence caused serious physical injury not only to anyone, but to our very own and beloved Doctor Kim!”
You flinched at the HR Department head before sneakily shooting Seokjin a hard glare. Seriously, he sent you to HR just because you bumped into him?! How petty could he be?
The answer to that was too petty.
Even petty couldn’t even begin to describe this!
Seated across from you, with an exaggerated pout, Seokjin held a warm compress to his chest as though nursing a life-threatening injury. Next to him sat the HR Department head, looking utterly serious.
"How are you feeling, Doctor Kim?" the HR head asked him, to which Seokjin gave a pathetic little whimper.
"I'm recovering," he replied, dramatically wincing as if your minor collision had left him grievously wounded.
You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to scream. This man is unbelievable! You weren’t just in HR because of a bump. You were in HR because Kim Seokjin wasn’t ready to let you go. Or was it his ego that couldn’t let go? You thought for sure that it was probably the latter.
“Did you even apologize, Doctor?” the HR head asked, her brow raised and eyes filled with judgment.
“Of course I did—” you began to explain, but before you could finish, Seokjin interrupted with a dramatic sigh, leaning further into his chair.
“It feels like she wasn’t even sorry,” he muttered, his voice dripping with exaggerated hurt.
Your jaw clenched, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. You shot him another glare, your patience wearing thin. “I literally apologized right after I bumped into you,” you protested, your voice tinged with frustration.
The HR head frowned, turning her disapproving gaze back to you. "Doctor Kim seems to think otherwise," she remarked.
Seokjin's lower lip jutted out in a pout as if your mild collision had ruined his entire week. He clutched the warm compress on his chest more theatrically, glancing at you with puppy-dog eyes.
This was so beyond ridiculous, but you had no choice but to play along for now. "I apologize again, Doctor Kim," you said stiffly, the words forced but necessary.
He shook his head slowly, “I don’t think I can function well this week…”
Of course, the HR head ate up his performance without hesitation. Her face twisted in concern as she asked, “How can we make this better, Doctor Kim?”
Seokjin didn’t miss a beat. He lifted his gaze toward you, looking up through his lashes with the faintest smirk hiding beneath his pout, as though he was plotting something.
You braced yourself.
“Well,” Seokjin began, his tone measured and sweet, “perhaps if Doctor Y/N could make amends...by spending a little more time making sure I’m alright. After all, accidents can have lingering effects,” he added, his voice a mixture of innocence and something else entirely.
Your patience snapped. “I bumped into you. You’re not a fragile vase!”
But he wasn’t going to let this go that easily, and judging by the look on the HR head’s face, you were stuck.
“Enough. Because of the inconvenience you caused to Doctor Kim, you are suspended for a week.”
Your mouth dropped open in shock. Suspended? For bumping into him? This couldn’t be happening. Your brain raced as you tried to process what had just been said, but all you could focus on was one fact—you couldn’t afford to be suspended. You literally couldn’t afford to lose a week’s salary.
Your crestfallen face almost made Seokjin stopped this act, but he couldn’t lose you. At least, not yet, he thought. Not until he figured out why his heart was fucking hurting when you weren’t around. Or why he was up all night because the thought of you leaving his life made him tossed and turned all night. Or why he was acting like a devious, Slytherin brat (something Jimin would surely was) just to keep you beside him.
“Or she could just assist me the entire month it’ll take me to recover-”
“Whole month?!” you repeated, dumbfounded at what your ex-crush was saying.
Seokjin’s eyes blinked innocently, as though he wasn’t pulling the strings of this ridiculous charade. “What?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as if he didn’t understand the problem. “This way, you’ll get paid. Plus overtime. Plus premiums. Plus dinner with me everyday. What more can you ask?”
You stared at him, your jaw hanging open as you tried to process the audacity of his proposal. The way he smirked, leaning back slightly with a look of self-satisfied victory, only served to increase your frustration. This was outrageous, but somehow, you knew he was serious.
“Are you kidding me?” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just—”
“Actually, I can,” Seokjin interrupted smoothly. “And I will. Unless you want to risk a suspension that you clearly can’t afford. It’s your choice.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Seokjin had you cornered. He was offering a solution that, while absurd and humiliating, was far better than the alternative. And the way he leaned in, as if he was sharing a secret, made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Well?” he prompted, still wearing that smug grin.
